


Without Mercy, Without Grace

by BloodyWar2411



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, M/M, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyWar2411/pseuds/BloodyWar2411
Summary: When Angeal died, it was without Honor. Rejected from the Lifestream, he watched his friends fall and the Planet crumble. And when the end arrived, he was ready for it. What he wasn't prepared for was the chance to try again. Armed with nothing but the fail-safe of Cloud Strife's soul, Angeal attempts to do the impossible: Save Sephiroth. If he fails, they're all dead anyway.





	Without Mercy, Without Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Без жалости и без пощады](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484947) by [MyrK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrK/pseuds/MyrK)



**Author’s Note:** _I wanted to take a break from my intense FMA story to write something without any real stress. So, I looked around and decided that if anyone deserves a stress-free, sweetsie story, it’s the FFVII crew, who breathe angst instead of oxygen. So here it is: a fix-it fic where everything just goes well._

 **Warnings:** _Language, violence, sexuality._

 **Disclaimer:** _Not Mine._

 

When Angeal died, it was without honor. Horrified by revelations of his origins, he swore to forsake himself for the sake of others. He was a monster – a beast – and deserved to perish like one. It was the only way to protect the ones he loved.

At least, that was what he told himself when he was alive.

The truth was that he was scared, and he would rather run and die a coward than face up to the name he had built for himself without the pleasant mask of humanity to back it up. So he had forced his student ( _and he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever forgive himself for this_ ) to kill him before thrusting the burden of his ideals onto those too-young shoulders via his beloved Buster Sword.

He had foolishly believed that to be the end.

What he had failed to realize was that the Lifestream worked in mysterious ways, and when his body faded, his soul did not. He knew instinctively that this was abnormal, but without a ‘how’ or ‘why,’ the distinction meant little.

He followed Genesis for the first six years or so. It was painful to watch his friend’s body and mind deteriorate. The once arrogant, almost overly-intelligent man had been brought to his knees, often times reciting _Loveless_ just to assure himself that his memory still worked. Or maybe he needed to hear a voice, _any_ voice, to stave off the intense loneliness isolation brought.

Either way it was something Angeal hated to see but could do nothing about. So he placed his hands on Genesis’ shoulders, well-aware that his childhood friend couldn’t feel him but hoping that could miraculously change, and listened. He spoke sometimes, usually to apologize or give empty assurances of a brighter future, but the majority of the time was spent listening.

He hoped to give a genuine response once Genesis joined him in the afterlife.

So when Genesis found his end on the wrong side of Zack’s blade ( _weak and finally cured of degradation beneath his beloved apple trees_ ) Angeal felt both sadness and relief. The relief was short-lived. Genesis passed into the Lifestream without a hitch, leaving Angeal alone once more.

That, shamefully, is when he thought of Sephiroth.

A thought was all it had taken to transport him to the silver-haired General. He immediately wished he had thought of someone else. Or maybe he had, as this could not be the man he knew. Whoever this was – whatever monster had donned his friend’s face – it wasn’t Sephiroth.

This being, this _thing_ , was cold and hateful. Angeal’s soul withered at the thought of being near it for too long, and if his ethereal form could feel nauseated, coming in contact with the Sephiroth impostor was what would cause it.

The first time he visited it, he lasted only a moment before transporting himself back to Banora and curling up beneath the apple trees. The second trip lasted longer, but only just so, and the following trips took on a similar pattern. By the time he could stomach being close enough to Sephiroth to touch, he began to think this was all just one big screw-up.

The Sephiroth look-alike’s soul was so vile that it hardly counted as a soul at all. While Sephiroth may never be described as compassionate, he knew kindness. He showed mercy.

Despite Angeal’s doubts, he knew that when he had thought ‘Sephiroth’ the Planet hadn’t made a mistake. So he reached out. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what he had intended. This Sephiroth wasn’t in pain and needed no comfort. It wanted not for companionship and seemed to care for only two things: pain and destruction.

Three things, if one counted the particular pain and destruction of Cloud Strife.

Regardless of his intent, his fingers brushed warm leather and for a second, he thought his afterlife may genuinely end. The darkness that reached out to him was all-consuming. It took away his hearing and vision and forced its way down airways he hadn’t been aware he was using like thick sludge. He was almost sure those unnaturally slitted eyes focused on him for a moment of a moment, and the fury – the _malice_ – in them nearly undid him.

And then he was somewhere sweet and white and soft. It happened so fast that the sudden lack of fear and dark and death left him disoriented. He sat on the white ground for a few minutes in an attempt to get a hold of himself, but it wasn’t until he felt a cautious, solid hand on his shoulder that he snapped out of his daze.

Sephiroth was behind him. Sort of. Neither was this the Sephiroth he knew nor the thing he had been visiting, but a child no older than eight. The boy had withdrawn his hand quickly enough to relay fear, even if his face didn’t show it.

Angeal later figured out that this was, in fact, his Sephiroth, while the thing controlling his body was Jenova. Mostly Jenova, at least. The willing part of Sephiroth fused with her while the rest of him ( _the innocence, the loneliness, the humanity that ShinRa couldn’t eradicate_ ) cut itself off from the whole to avoid consumption.

He wasn’t exactly the same as the friend Angeal had grown to cherish, but he was reminiscent. He was forward without knowledge of social cues and had a hard time grasping Angeal’s no-strings-attached kindness. He had Sephiroth’s easy confidence without the powerful aura his adult-self always radiated, and he soaked in anything relating to friendship like an under-watered plant.

For all intents and purposes, he was an eight-year-old Sephiroth. That realization hit Angeal hard, and it made him _ache_. He ached for the loss of childhood and the lack of time he had spent cultivating their friendship as adults. He ached for the isolation this boy had to continue to endure despite already having grown up and found the friends he so desired.

Most of all, he ached for the sorrow this Sephiroth felt while watching his adult counterpart wreak havoc on the world. Not only did everyone on the Planet hate his older self, Young Sephiroth did, too.

As they grew closer, Sephiroth would cry and apologize and ask how Angeal could stay friends with him, and Angeal would put to use all the things he had wanted to say to Genesis.

_You aren’t a monster._

_I’m here for you._

_What’s happening to your body isn’t your fault._

_This won’t last forever._

The last one was Sephiroth’s favorite. He adored the thought that a hero would come and put an end to the Other Sephiroth’s tirade ( _and_ that _made Angeal ache, too_ ), so when Cloud Strife showed up at the Northern Crater, they were both celebrating.

The celebration ended when the Other Sephiroth took control of Strife and gained the black materia.

It resumed when Strife showed up again at the Forgotten Capital and resisted the Other Sephiroth’s poisonous call.

Angeal almost didn’t believe it when Strife’s (previously Angeal's) Buster Sword burrowed itself into the Other Sephiroth’s chest, but the flow of Lifestream around them was undeniable. They were released from Sephiroth’s body, and the surrounding darkness that had oppressed them for the past few years faded to make way for peace.

He could see Genesis in the Lifestream. Zack stood next to him with an arm slung around Gillian’s shoulders. They were all smiling, and he happily reached forward only to have his connection to Sephiroth’s remaining soul shard pull him back.

Young Sephiroth was panicking, his hold on Angeal quickly slipping, and Angeal wasted no time adjusting his grip even as he felt the Lifestream slipping away. Other Sephiroth had revived himself through a Remnant named Kadaj, and they were sucked back into that overpowering darkness so fast that Angeal felt the nonexistent wind get knocked out of him.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed between their departure and re-arrival, but it seemed significant. They were fighting Cloud Strife again, and the blonde looked older ( _harder, angrier, more desperate_ ) than he had before.

The fight was brutal, even by Angeal’s standards, but this time when Strife won there was a permanency to it. They were once again free of the harsh shadows of the Other Sephiroth’s control, only this time the Lifestream didn’t welcome them. Young Sephiroth was yanked from him, terrified green eyes begging for help, before he dissolved along with Jenova and the Other Sephiroth.

Angeal was once again alone.

His next thought was of Zack, though he knew the other man had already made his way to the Lifestream. With Sephiroth gone, Angeal had no one else. So instead of trying to find someone he knew, he went for someone he felt like he knew.

Cloud Strife.

The Other Sephiroth had been so focused on ( _obsessed with_ ) the blonde man that Angeal felt him to be the next closest thing to an ally.

Strife was reclusive and blunt, if not unkind, to most. He had a delivery service that kept him on the move, though Angeal had his suspicions over the job being an excuse to avoid providing Tifa Lockheart the family she so desired.

There were two children, Marlene and Denzel, who adored Strife to no end. While the blonde clearly loved them and wished to protect them and their happiness, that seemed to be the end of his paternal instincts.

When Angeal first realized this, he thought it was probably for the best. Strife tended to be even harder to read than Sephiroth, which didn’t bode well for a child’s understanding. Hel, after trailing along behind Strife for a few years, he still felt he knew barely more than when he started.

Admittedly, he didn’t pay Strife his fullest attentions at most points.

After the first few weeks of shadowing, Angeal had begun to split his time between Strife and the Banora apple tree grove. Even when he was with Strife, he tended to pay more attention to the hustle and bustle around the blonde than the hero himself. Strife spent most of his time on the road, silent. When he met up with friends, he kept his answers short and tended to listen more than speak. His free time was spent reading and training.

Strife’s friends would always chat happily, occasionally including him in conversation but generally content to let him section himself off. Strangers would whisper and jeer at the no-doubt ex-SOLDIER with the freakish mako glow in his eyes, unaware that Strife could hear every word.

Strife would sip his drink and ignore it all.

The second time Angeal thought it best that Strife had no want for children, it was because the Planet was dying. Food was scarce. Clean water was scarcer. Monsters mutated and multiplied while the dead had to be burned lest they rise again. Cities fell one by one, and slowly Strife’s friends stopped responding.

Strife, to his credit, did everything he could to help those around him. Some were reluctant to accept his aid, but it became quickly apparent that he was the only one left alive with the survival skills necessary to keep going.

Strife needed little sleep and could eat the mako-poisoned food without ill-effect thanks to the high mako content in his bloodstream. He took charge of a camp of at least two hundred civilians and did his best to protect them all. In fact, when all else fell to chaos, Strife managed to keep an entire town functioning and monster-free. It wasn’t the growing infestation or lack of food that got them in the end.

It was the madness.

The signs were subtle at first: an uncontrollable twitch or a loss of appetite. Then came the lack of fear, as though the deathly fog on the horizon held no dangers. Anger inevitably followed, often times leading to outright slaughter, and finally they slipped into the Long Sleep. After three or four days of rest, they would awake as a mindless Remnant teetering on the edge of life and death.

Strife was always left to kill them when they turned and often bore the burden of euthanasia if the signs were spotted early enough. When it infected Marlene and Denzel, Angeal had returned to the field in Banora where apple trees once grew. He stayed for over two weeks, and when he returned the children were gone.

Lockheart was one of the few who died of starvation instead of madness, though Angeal was hard-pressed to say whether that was better or not. By the end of the year, only Strife and Angeal remained.

Angeal could feel it when the Planet officially gave out. He felt the Lifestream open over them, ready to die with Gaia, and hoped once more for the chance to hug his best friends goodbye.

That was when he noticed it.

The Lifestream, which usually existed on an entirely separate plane, had joined the Planet for the final departure. There was the Planet, there was the Lifestream, and there was him, miraculously caught between the two.

He had never thought about it before, but looking at it now, he could see that the Lifestream flowed within firm barriers. A timeline.

The souls within the Lifestream couldn’t leave, and Strife was only just vacating his body. He would likely barely make it into the flow before ceasing to exist.

Angeal though, he could go anywhere. And if this Lifestream, for this moment, was truly connected to the Planet on the same plane, then it was likely entering at a particular when on the timeline would release him back into the same plane Planet was on.

If it didn’t, they were all dead anyways.

So Angeal positioned himself to enter at the when he wanted, hesitated, grabbed hold of Strife’s soul ( _a fail safe_ ) and leapt.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

When Angeal opened his eyes, he was in his bed. Not just sitting on the remains of his bed, pretending he could sleep, but genuinely lying on it. Luxuriously soft sheets wrapped themselves snugly around him, and it took a moment to process that he could feel them. That he could touch them. Move them. Affect them. That he was alive.

Angeal hadn’t been able to physically feel since his time with Sephiroth, and it was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t reveling in the magic of being back. His PHS illuminated the dark room with a single touch, silently announcing it was _June 1, 1999._   If the whole “having a body” thing hadn’t tipped him off, the date did.

It really worked.

He rushed out of bed, caressing his beloved Buster Sword ( _not the rusty, vine-covered relic that served as Zack’s grave-marker but his shiny, well-maintained pride and joy_ ) on the way to the living room. His laptop was right where he used to leave it, and it booted up without issue. The first person he searched for was Genesis, who was apparently stationed in Wutai.

He was hoping Sephiroth was the one currently overseas, if only to put some extra space between the General and Strife, but he would work with what he was given. The next name he typed in was Strife’s, but luck could only favor him so much, and the database came back empty.

Angeal had no idea where Strife originated from, and that meant he could be anywhere. As an enemy, knowing Strife’s location was dangerous. Not knowing it?

A quiet sense of unease settled Angeal’s bones before he felt himself move. He ran first to get his Buster Sword and then to Sephiroth’s apartment.

The door opened before Angeal could knock, revealing Sephiroth in all of his ( _sane, non-murderous, Jenova-less_ ) glory. He was dressed for work despite it being half-past three in the morning, and Angeal couldn’t hold back the swell of joy at being reunited with his old friend.

He reached forward and trapped Sephiroth in a tight hug, causing the General to stiffen but otherwise remain unresponsive. After a few seconds, Sephiroth said, “Angeal.”

Angeal responded by grasping Sephiroth’s elbow and pulling them both into the apartment. Sephiroth allowed it, seeming content to watch as Angeal searched the apartment for signs of Strife. When he was sure that they were truly alone, he closed the curtains of Sephiroth’s window-walls and faced the other occupant.

Though Sephiroth’s expression remained blank, his eyes were shining with curiosity.

“Sephiroth, I know this is going to sound insane, but I need you to hear me out.”

Sephiroth gave an almost imperceptible nod before complying to Angeal’s motion to be seated. Even when sitting on his overly plush couch, Sephiroth’s posture remained proper and powerful, making him seem just as imposing as he was when standing. The familiarity of it made Angeal’s heart melt a little, and he fought to get himself back on track.

“I’m from the future.”

Angeal waited for a response – a raised eyebrow, a scoff, _anything_ – but Sephiroth remained unreadable.

“A lot happens, obviously, but the most important thing to know is that I’m not the only one. A man named Cloud Strife came back with me, and he wants you dead.” Angeal waited again for a response, but when none came, he clarified, “And he’s capable of killing you.”

Both of Sephiroth’s brows lifted, if only slightly.

“You are sure of this?”

“Positive. I’ve personally seen him kill you twice.”

“Twice.”

Sephiroth’s tone was flat, and Angeal inwardly guffawed at _that_ being what Sephiroth found unbelievable. His time with Young Sephiroth had dulled his memory of Sephiroth’s arrogance.

“Yes. Twice. You’re able to revive because of a monster called Jenova—”

Sephiroth visibly perked up.

“My mother?”

“No. I mean—maybe, but I don’t think so. She’s an alien of sorts, and she takes over your body and fuses with your soul to make you… different. It’s bad, Sephiroth. Really bad. You try and destroy the world.”

“But I do not succeed.”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. The Planet dies anyway. That’s why I’m here. Why we’re here.”

Slitted green eyes widen marginally.

“To kill me.”

“What? No! No, I want to _save_ you! If you can resist Jenova’s influence, none of the other things will happen.”

“And Strife?”

Angeal hesitated.

“He… he probably wants to kill you.”

“Probably.”

“Look, Sephiroth, you… The Other you does a lot of bad things in the future, and most of them are to Strife. I want to save you because I know the thing that committed all of those monstrous acts was Jenova, not you. It’s unlikely he feels the same.”

“But you do not know. Did he not travel back with you?”

Angeal nearly flinched at the question, knowing full well how bad the truth would sound but no longer willing to lie.

“He did, and he didn’t. I dragged him into the Lifestream without his consent. I doubt he knew what was happening until he woke up back here. I’m assuming his soul integrated itself into his current body, wherever that may be, just like mine did.” At Sephiroth’s continued blank stare, Angeal hurriedly added, “But I don’t think he’s in any shape to target you yet. He should be very young at this point. Barely a teenager.”

Instead of showing any sign of relief ( _or stress, for that matter_ ), Sephiroth responded, “I doubt he is the age you believe him to be.”

“What?”

“You are older than you were yesterday. I assume he underwent a similar aging process.”

“I’m older?”

Sephiroth nodded as though it were a normal observation.

“It is why I find your tale believable.”

Angeal paused their conversation to find a mirror, and Sephiroth watched him. Angeal didn’t think he looked any older, but it had been a long time since he had seen his reflection.

“When do you come from?”

“0015, but I die in 0001.”

“It appears as though your body finds a median age between death and your current life to achieve stasis.”

Sephiroth was only trying to be helpful, but it made dread flood Angeal’s system. If that were true Strife would get an eight year age boost, putting him in his early twenties.

“For your sake, let’s hope not.”

“How old was Strife when he first defeated me?”

“Nineteen? Maybe twenty. But I think you two fought before that. You seemed to have a history.”

Sephiroth gave another curt nod.

“I assume you brought him back to assure a swifter defeat in the event that I cannot be swayed from Mother’s side?”

Sephiroth’s question was more of a statement that happened to lilt up at the end. Angeal flinched and then nodded.

“We’re going to exhaust all possible options but—”

“It was a good decision, Angeal. Should I decide to destroy the Planet, the likelihood of you being able to defeat me is minimal.”

Sephiroth’s tone and expression remained blank. His posture did not.

Angeal’s entire demeanor softened as he realized that Sephiroth was hurt by the notion of one of his best friends bringing forth his murderer. He sat beside of the General with a practiced gentleness and placed a comforting hand between Sephiroth’s shoulder blades, much like he used to do with the Young Sephiroth.

“I didn’t bring him for the Planet. I brought him because the part of you that didn’t fuse with Jenova was trapped, forced to watch as she used your body and praying to Ilfrit for it all to end. I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”

Even as Angeal said it, he found it to be the truth. Genesis, Sephiroth, and Zack were all he cared to save in this world. It wasn’t honorable. It wasn’t nice. But it was true.

Sephiroth accepted this just as easily as he had accepted everything else, and Angeal wanted to drink in the amount of trust Sephiroth still had in him. Trust not yet demolished by months of sneaking around and eventual defecting. Trust which he had once upon a time worked so hard to earn.

“How can you be sure I was not in control of my actions?”

“When I died, I didn’t enter the Lifestream. I watched over Genesis until he died, and then I watched over you. Only it wasn’t you, it was _her._ I could feel her soul, and it was vile. Otherworldly. I could hardly stand to be around it, and when I finally got close enough to touch, I was pulled in. Your soul – what was left of it – sectioned itself off to avoid being devoured by her influence. That’s where I stayed for the majority of my time with you.”

“I see.” Sephiroth paused, apparently sorting through a priority list before, “Who did you watch over after you left me?”

“Strife.” Angeal gave a helpless shrug. “I waffled between him and Banora. Everyone else I knew had already died.”

Sephiroth didn’t respond to that directly, and Angeal didn’t blame him.

“How did you die?”

“Zack killed me.”

“Fair?”

Angeal nodded, then clarified, “I asked him to.”

“And Genesis?”

“Zack kills him, too.”

Silver brows raised slightly, making Angeal smile.

“He wanted it. Life wasn’t so good near the end. It was nice to die by a friendly hand. To die like a SOLDIER.”

Slowly, Sephiroth nodded, too. He could understand at least that much.

“What made it so bad?”

There was a clear, _Was it my Other self?_ but Sephiroth didn’t have to voice it for Angeal to lay those fears to rest.

“It’s our DNA. Genesis and I were infused with Jenova’s cells but by different processes. My mom had them integrated into her DNA before she had me, so I was born with them. Genesis was injected with her cells at a young age. Unfortunately, neither of us are stable. It doesn’t make us less human. Just unstable. Come late summer of 0000, we start to degrade. It drives Genesis mad, and I have Zack kill me before it can really take hold.”

“Do you find a cure?”

“Genesis does. Right before his final fight with Zack.”

“Do you still know where it is?”

In that moment, Sephiroth’s urge to help was palpable, and it made Angeal wonder why he and Genesis had ever left their silver-haired friend behind. They were his family, and not only had leaving him condemned them ( _on the off-chance that S-cells could, in fact, cure them_ ), it had condemned him, too. In the end, their betrayal was what had left Sephiroth so open to Jenova’s call.

“I do. There’s a large, natural materia in the tunnels beneath Banora that can heal us. Genesis and I will need a few days’ reprieve to travel there and back, but afterwards we should be fine.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Sephiroth said it like it was nothing, but Angeal knew the strings that would need to be pulled to relieve two Lt. Generals from duty during the height of a war, even if only for a few days.

“I… Thank you.”

Sephiroth waved it off.

“What does Strife look like?”

“Pale with wild blonde hair that sticks up like a chocobo’s feathers. Blue eyes. I don’t know if the mako carried back with him or not to say if they glow.”

“And he will seek me out?”

“Most likely.”

“What is he like?”

“He’s quiet, mostly. He likes to train.” Even after years of shadowing Strife, Angeal found himself floundering. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he shrugged. “Despite having defeated you, he doesn’t have much of a presence. It’s easy for him to fade into the background. Most of my time watching over him was spent watching over his friends.”

Sephiroth’s lips thinned, no doubt taking Angeal’s description as tactical advice as he said, “I will be on my guard.”

Angeal shook his head.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be prepared. You should. But he won’t sneak up on you. Strife’s a SOLDIER, not a Turk.”

“He is a SOLDIER?”

“Either that or he likes swimming in mako. His eyes are easily as bright as ours.”

“What year?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing him before his fight with you. I think he was friends with Zack though.”

It wasn’t necessarily helpful, but Sephiroth seemed appeased nonetheless.

“How did Zackary die?”

“I… don’t know. I gave my Buster Sword to Zack when I died. He used it to kill Genesis. The next I saw it, Strife was using it to kill you. Then it served as Zack’s gravestone.”

That was, unfortunately, his entire knowledge of Zack’s fate. Sephiroth didn’t seem to mind either way.

“When do I meet Mother?”

Angeal withheld a huff at what was beginning to be a repetitive answer.

“I don’t know. Sometime in 0002, I think. Another reason I wanted Strife here is my lack of knowledge of the future. Both you and Genesis led fairly isolated lives, and I isolated myself with you.”

Sephiroth grunted, possibly in displeasure, possibly in acknowledgment.

“How do you intend to convince Strife to abstain from fighting me?”

Angeal noted Sephiroth’s distinct avoidance of the word kill, but he didn’t mention it.

“Talk to him, hopefully. I haven’t thought much past that.” Angeal smiled ruefully. “I only woke up a few minutes before coming to you. Before that I… I wasn’t really sure it would work. Almost positive it wouldn’t, actually.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and only when Angeal was sure that Sephiroth wasn’t just taking an awkwardly long pause between questions did he ask: “How’s Genesis?”

The question came out quieter than intended, but the nerves that came with his remembrance of a living Genesis ( _tattered red coat, crazed blue eyes, muttering lines from Loveless as though they could solve it all_ ) stopped him from trying again.

Whether or not Sephiroth picked up on Angeal’s somber mood was impossible to say, but he answered as softly as he was addressed.

“Genesis is well. He is enjoying the attention that comes with leading the front in Wutai and the reprieve from paperwork accompanying his deployment.” Sephiroth had clearly finished, but at Angeal’s encouraging look, he added, “He still refuses to have a conversation without quoting _Loveless_ at least once.”

The last part caused Angeal to smile, which in turn caused some of the tension to bleed out of Sephiroth’s shoulders.

“I will keep a look out for Strife. For now, it may be best if you become reacquainted with current events. Is there anyone else you intend to inform of your predicament?”

“Genesis and Zack. Strife, when we find him.”

Angeal couldn’t properly express how thankful he was when Sephiroth hummed, accepting his decision without question. Sephiroth had always taken things in stride, but Angeal had never properly appreciated it before.

“I am unsure of your adamancy to inform Genesis in person, but it should be nearing nightfall in Wutai if you wish to call him.”

Angeal outright grinned, more than looking forward to hearing Genesis’ voice used for something more than desperate muttering. And Sephiroth, though he never understood the intricacies of Angeal’s and Genesis’ relationship, understood that. Angeal closed the distance between them to secure Sephiroth in another, equally un-returned hugbefore taking out his PHS.

He had allowed Sephiroth to keep him at arm’s length before. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Zack knew for a fact that he was a lucky guy. He had good looks, an incredible sense of humor, the ability to make friends with anyone, a sharp mind, and a boundless source of energy. Sure, being born in a backwater village didn’t do him a whole lot of favors on the Become-A-Hero front, but Gongaga was in the middle of rough, monster-filled terrain.

What was useless for his reputation was perfect for honing his skills, and that was what mattered in the end. After all, it wasn’t his spectacular hair or killer jokes that would make him a hero, but his actions. He wouldn’t spend his life selling Maiden’s Kisses to unfortunate travelers who didn’t know how to avoid Touch Me Toads like his mom. Nor would he shuck tree nuts day in and day out like his dad.

He loved them, but he was meant for more.

That was why, two years ago, Zack had hugged his parents goodbye and made his way to Midgar. He had only flourished from there. The cadet program added fire to the flame of his already overenthusiastic personality, and he had not only been accepted into SOLDIER but recommended for it.

Mako injections sucked ass, but the enhancements were worth it. His eyes kept their violet color, which he was told was odd but not unheard of, and his already muscular build only got stronger. Angeal Hewley himself had singled Zack out for mentoring, helping Zack to not only better himself physically and tactically but as a man as well.

Angeal’s mentoring didn’t end when the VR door closed. He gave advice, offered solace, cooked like a god in an apron, and treated Zack like the brother Zack had never known he wanted.

After his first rotation in Wutai, he had been promoted to Second Class. His peers admired him, Angeal adored him, Genesis ( _though it had taken an inordinate amount of time_ ) was fond of him, and even Sephiroth was softer on him than his other subordinates.

His luck not only didn’t run out, as his mom had always warned it would, it had increased. That was why, when Angeal called him into his office and started weaving a story of time travel and preventing ultimate destruction, Zack believed him.

Not at first, obviously.

At first he thought it was some elaborate prank. But the more Angeal talked, the more Zack thought it might be true. Why else would he say such terrible things about ShinRa and mako use? He wasn’t the type to pull pranks like this – cruel thoughts of possibilities Zack never wanted to entertain – and that was only reinforced by Seph popping by to ask Angeal a question about the fall of ShinRa.

Even if Angeal had somehow been wrangled into this, Zack was pretty sure Seph didn’t know how to lie. So that meant this whole time travel thing was real, and Zack blamed it all on his luck.

What was cooler than time travel?

Zack was quick to jump on board the _Save Seph, Save the World_ train, eager to be the hero he always knew he was meant to be. Not only was Seph a cool guy, what could be bigger than saving the world?

Nothing. That’s what.

Even better, apparently he was friends with the badass who stopped Seph from blowing up the Planet in the Other timeline. That placed him very firmly on the Hero’s side of the battle field, even if Angeal wasn’t quite sure what happened to him.

The high of being flung into a crazy adventure-mission could only last so long, however, and the knowledge that he died by 0008 hit him harder than he would like to admit. He knew he would die eventually, sure, but 0008? It was so soon.

He would never turn 25.

That was what brought him down to Sector 5, searching for the rundown church which used to serve as his grave. He knew there would be no sign of the things Angeal had mentioned, but he wanted to see it anyways: The place where he would be buried.

He didn’t find the grave, of course, but he did find the angel he hoped would watch over it.  She wore a pretty white dress with gardening gloves and no shoes. Beautiful brown hair was pulled back in a high braid, and she had the most gorgeous green eyes Zack had ever seen. He was instantly smitten.

That, of course, made him all the warier of the Turks stationed outside.

“Hello?”

The angel jumped, her pretty eyes widening as she noticed Zack standing in the doorway. She backed up a few steps, her arms rising protectively in front of her chest.

“H-hi. Um, is there something I can…?” Whether because of nerves or a lack of things to offer, she didn’t finish. Zack shot her his best grin, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to look even less official.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name’s Zack.”

He didn’t move any closer for fear of unsettling her further, but he shifted on his feet.

“I’m Aerith.”

She rubbed her arm, glancing worriedly between Zack and the flowers she had been tending.

“Those are real pretty. I didn’t know flowers could grow under the Plate.”

He kept his voice low and sweet, hoping to entice her into more conversation. After a few moments, she nodded and took a step closer to Zack. He did his best to keep the excitement out of his body language.

“I grow them all myself.” She bit her lip and it was something between sexy and cute but Zack purposefully didn’t stare. “Do you… do you like flowers?”

“I like looking at them, if that’s what you mean. I’ve got this friend – big guy but soft as goop – who likes to garden. He tried to teach me some stuff once before accusing me of being about as careful as a bahamut and exiling me to the bench. Which was a major overreaction, if you ask me. I mean, how can you tell what’s an herb and what’s a weed without pulling it up?”

Zack was actually genuinely embarrassed about how Angeal had given him a Forever Ban on gardening, but her wind chime laugh was worth it.

Odin, she was beautiful.

“Thank you.”

Zack blinked, very suddenly aware that he had spoken aloud, and could feel the responding heat flooding his cheeks. He ran his hand through his hair again, this time out of genuine nervousness.

“Oh, uh, you’re totally welcome. Super welcome. I-” Zack shut his mouth, well aware that he was about to start babbling, and remembered why he had come here in the first place. If he only had nine years left, max, there was hardly time to waste. “Is there any chance I could take you on a date sometime?”

He donned his most award-winning smile and the puppy dog eyes that not even Genesis could refuse, and he waited. Even if she turned him down, he knew he’d be back. Zack had never believed in love at first sight before, but that was _before_.

Her shy smile and dainty blush said he needn’t worry,

“I would like that. Would you… Would you like to sit with me for a bit while I garden?”

Zack was moving to the pew nearest her workstation before his mouth caught up with the rest of him and said, “Yeah. Yeah, yes. Hell yes.”

Aerith started giggling again, and Zack counted it as a victory.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

If not for how much older Angeal looked now than when Genesis had left for his rotation in Wutai, he would think his friend mad. He still thought Angeal mad, technically, just with a hint of truth, too.

“People don’t just randomly travel back in time.”

“It wasn’t random. It was the end of the world.”

Angeal sounded as gentle and reassuring as when Genesis had received his first serious injury, and it made Genesis want to Firaga him in the face.

“People don’t get randomly injected with alien DNA, either.”

Genesis glared, and Angeal’s eyes softened further, somehow knowing this was the crux of the issue.

“It wasn’t random. It was an experiment. Our parents agreed to it. Sephiroth’s parents agreed to it.”

The calm explanation – one he had heard numerous times now – didn’t soothe the hurt pounding on his self-view or the defensive anger bubbling above that.

“So what? We’re just failed experiments? Lesser versions of _Sephiroth_?”

Genesis practically spat the name, only vaguely willing to admit that Sephiroth had no control over his genetic superiority.

“No! No, of course not. Listen to me, Gen. Getting injected with Jenova’s cells is a lot like getting injected with mako. The issue is that our bodies aren’t as compatible with it as Sephiroth’s, that’s all. It’s the scientists’ fault for not checking that, not ours. And it doesn’t make us any less human – _don’t give me that look_ – it really doesn’t.”

“How can you honestly believe that?” Genesis growled and ran a hand roughly through his hair before Angeal could spout some stupid drivel about honor. “ _The beast inside the warrior hath the sharpest claws._ ”

“I can believe it because I’ve seen it! You’re a good man. A SOLDIER. Don’t forget what that means.”

Honor. Dignity. Being a hero.

“We’ve done great things for the world. Saved people. Every single man under your command is willing to lay down his life for you, and it isn’t because of your genetic makeup. It’s because they trust you to keep them safe. To do what’s right. We have feelings and morals and a code of ethics. We’re human.”

“And what of Sephiroth: Son of Jenova?”

Angeal glared, and Genesis refused to look cowed, even if he felt it. He knew Sephiroth found what he would do in the future unsettling, even more so considering his biological mother was the one to make him do it. He also knew the General was doing everything in his power to get Genesis and Angeal the cure they needed.

That didn’t make it any easier to stop the snide comments his mind just kept producing. After all, Sephiroth was perfect. He was the poster boy of ShinRa’s elite, and he could do no wrong. That made it easy to forget that he could be just as vulnerable to emotional pain as everyone else.

Genesis needed somewhere to direct his anger. Sephiroth could take it.

“Sephiroth is in the same boat we are. We suffered because our DNA was unstable. He suffered because his wasn’t. It was a lose-lose situation.”

Angeal’s tone was reasonable and chiding, making Genesis’ inferiority-fueled-rage snap to attention. Seeing as Sephiroth wasn’t a viable target, Genesis switched tactics.

“And what of Strife? Is he like us?”

“I don’t know.”

That was Angeal’s answer to an irritating number of topics.

“I’ll bet he’s treated like us. The hero who kills Sephiroth not once but _twice_. If he were a monster, he’d never share, and who would suspect him? _Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds_. I bet he’s just precious.”

Genesis had never met Strife, but he didn’t like him. Angeal made the blonde sound like more stoic version of Sephiroth, which shouldn’t even be possible. He didn’t need two arrogant, aloof powerhouses raining on his parade all day. And in the event that Strife did kill Sephiroth—

Genesis preferred not to think about that.

“After saving the Planet he certainly deserved it, but… It’s different after ShinRa falls. Strife doesn’t get paraded around, and he isn’t the type to brag. Most people didn’t know that it was him who beat Sephiroth. All they saw were the glowing eyes, and it wasn’t a sign of prestige anymore. Anti-ShinRa prejudices ran strong and people...”

“People are cruel.” Genesis finished bluntly.

Angeal nodded. Genesis scoffed, though his anger lessened with the knowledge that Strife wouldn’t be expecting them to bow at his feet.

“I don’t know how Strife will react to being brought back here, and even if he isn’t in top-shape, he’ll be dangerous. It’s best if we cure the degradation before it starts.”

Genesis shrugged uncaringly, not liking any of this and unwilling to believe they weren’t all monsters but more scared of degrading than his new self-loathing could stifle.

“So when are we expected to leave? To find this so-called cure?”

“As soon as you’re ready. There’s a chopper waiting, and Sephiroth will take over our workloads until we get back.”

Genesis’ anger spiked at the thought of Sephiroth being capable of handling all three of their jobs at once before mellowing out with the satisfaction of what a hard time he was guaranteed to have while doing it.

It was that frustrating knowledge of Sephiroth being capable of anything that allowed Genesis to board the chopper with only minor hesitation. If Strife showed up while they were gone, Sephiroth could handle himself.

And even if he couldn’t, Angeal had practically reassigned his pup to guard duty. Genesis wouldn’t admit to caring either way, but he had promised Fair a Firaga to the face should he fail. Sephiroth wasn’t as great as he thought he was, but he didn’t deserve to die by the hands of some time-traveling loon before getting the chance to ruin his perfect reputation.

The chopper was overly-loud to their enhanced ears, and if Angeal heard him send a quick prayer to the Goddess for his friend’s safety, he didn’t mention it.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

It wasn’t often that people got up the courage to attempt to assassinate Sephiroth. He was the General of the greatest army in the world, the Demon of Wutai, and wasn’t known for his mercy. That being said, attempts were still made. Sephiroth knew what to look for. He could tell when he was being watched.

Which made it all the more unsettling when he couldn’t pinpoint the source.

He knew on an instinctive level what direction the perpetrator was in. More than his perpetual awareness, something buzzed inside of him like a supernatural compass, telling him where to look. The knowledge of where Strife must be made his inability to actually _find_ the man beyond irritating.

Worse, this had been going on for _months_.

It had started shortly after Angeal and Genesis departed for Banora. At the time, Sephiroth had considered the appearance a tactical maneuver. It would be far easier to fight him without Angeal and Genesis interfering.

He had dutifully informed Zackary of Strife’s appearance before returning to work, sure that his attacker would show himself soon enough. When Angeal and Genesis returned before Strife made an appearance, Sephiroth found himself secretly disappointed.

It wasn’t as though he wanted to be killed. He didn’t. But it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t excited at the prospect of someone who could genuinely challenge him. So when Strife missed his best ( _and likely only_ ) chance to gain the upper hand against him, Sephiroth assumed both that Strife had lost his nerve and that the Other him must have been sloppy in his insanity.

Again, that was _months_ ago.

He woke up every morning knowing Strife was somewhere to the right of the SOLDIER compound, went to work knowing Strife was directly across from ShinRa Tower, and returned home knowing Strife would again be to his right by the time he went to sleep. If he went to sleep.

When it was his turn to be stationed in Wutai, he assumed it would stop.

Imagine his surprise when, after an eighteen hour flight to their camp outside Fort Tamblin, he felt Strife’s presence again. To the left this time. He remained close by, though out of sight, for the entirety of Sephiroth’s rotation.

Angeal had previously mentioned that the war had dragged on until February of 0001 in the Other life. Armed with his knowledge of Wutai’s defeat, they intended to avoid a similar timeline.

Genesis had been adamant about being the one to physically capture Fort Tamblin. When Sephiroth easily agreed, the red head ranted about his arrogance and over-confidence in the lifespan of his fame. When Sephiroth ignored him, Angeal mentioned that it would be nice if Zackary could go, too. Capturing Fort Tamblin had been the previous reason for Zackary’s promotion to First, and Angeal wished for a repeat performance.

It was Zackary who insisted Angeal take the Fort with them, adamant that he was the entire reason they would win so early and deserved the recognition that came with it. Genesis was quick to inform Angeal of how dishonorable it would be to come up with a plan just to leave others to do the dirty work. After forcing Sephiroth to promise at least considering fleeing in the event of Strife confronting him, Angeal agreed.

When Sephiroth returned to Midgar, Strife returned with him.

Outwardly, he remained calm. His blood hummed with anticipation. Strife’s bravery may have stuttered before, but an even better chance had arisen. Sephiroth was unguarded and, to the untrained eye, unprepared. The probability for victory would never be higher.

Unfortunately, either foolishness or cowardice cooled Strife’s feet, and no attack came. Fort Tamblin fell. Wutai surrendered. Genesis, Angeal, and Zackary returned safely. It all worked out for the best, technically.

Genesis’ ego was properly stroked. Angeal’s need for them all to be together and out of harm’s way was appeased. Zackary joined their ranks not only as a SOLDIER First Class, but as one of the few SOLDIERs with an official fan club. The Silver Elite, Red Leather, and the Keepers of Honor had all released newsletters concerning the formation of the Violet Heroes, and Zackary, who was subscribed to all three, found no greater pleasure than that of reading them aloud while Sephiroth attempted to do paperwork.

By March of 0000, Strife’s presence had become a constant that Sephiroth could hardly remember being without. He was aware of the possibility of an attack but only as wary of it as he had been before Angeal traveled through time. If Strife moved closer, he would know.

When he glanced in the direction he knew Strife to be, it was out of habit. Comfort, even. He didn’t expect to see Strife staring back.

Strife was perched almost casually on the edge of a skyscraper nearly three miles away. His hair was a wild mess of blonde spikes that nearly obscured the long red handle of what appeared to be a buster sword.

Strife looked more delicate than Sephiroth had expected – more lithe than muscular – and the strong line of his jaw just barely stopped him from being considered effeminate. His expression remained carefully blank as he balanced on the balls of his feet and stared Sephiroth down, equally ready to strike and wait it out.

Dark blue irises backlit by a bright mako glow watched Sephiroth, and Sephiroth found himself incapable of looking away. He had engaged in battle with countless men determined to end his life, and their gazes were always the same. A genuine fight with Sephiroth required either arrogance or desperation. Usually both.

Strife had neither.

He watched Sephiroth calmly, like an apex predator hunting the next predator down the chain. Aware of the dangers. Confident in his abilities. Equally prepared for victory and death. Strife had waited because he could afford to wait, and he would continue to wait for as long as he deemed necessary.

He had time. He was unafraid.

The unwavering stare caused something primal inside of Sephiroth to bare its teeth. If Strife noticed the new layer of dominance invading Sephiroth’s demeanor, he didn’t show it.

In the end, it was Zackary who terminated their interaction by throwing open Sephiroth’s door and slumping onto his couch. Sephiroth only spared him the barest hint of a glance, but that was all Strife needed to disappear from view.

“You’ll never believe what Genesis said, Seph. He called my fan club _illegitimate_.”

Zackary heaved a heavy sigh. Sephiroth continued to stare at the spot where Strife had been.

“I mean, I know they’re new and all, but they’ve got more regular updates than Red Leather! I think he’s just jealous, but you can bet how he reacted when I voiced that opinion.”

Sephiroth didn’t respond, but Zackary went on as though he had.

“He said my fan club would never be as classy as his and called their frequent updates ‘worthless drivel.’ Which is dumb ‘cause I know for a fact he’s subscribed to The Violet Heroes. I hacked his e-mail.”

Sephiroth turned his focus to the skyscraper Strife had been perched on, trying to spot any sort of unusual movement.

“I don’t see why he can’t just accept that I’m getting more popular. I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Genuine frustration shone through the overly dramatic facade Zackary usually put on, and Sephiroth finally gave the other First his attention.

“Genesis does not enjoy being ignored.”

“It’s not like my fan club takes away from his though, you know? Red Leather’s more popular than ever now that Gen is a certified war hero!”

Sephiroth stared at Zackary, thinking over the proper way to communicate his view of the events. Zackary, to his credit, now knew Sephiroth well enough to allow him time instead of simply plowing through to the next topic in his seemingly endless stream of babble.

Finally, Sephiroth said, “It is not his fans who are ignoring him.”

Bright violet eyes narrowed in what Sephiroth assumed was confusion. The war had brought Zackary and Genesis closer, but there had been far fewer people to distract Zackary’s ever-wavering attention span in Wutai. Ever since they had gotten back, Zackary had taken to a sort of mentoring program, spreading his already thin free time between cadets and out-of-place SOLDIERs.

Someone like Zackary who made friends as easily as breathing didn’t understand what it meant to be friends with someone like Genesis, who both allowed few people close and hated sharing.

“Wait, you mean me?”

Sephiroth nodded.

“That’s dumb. I’m not ignoring him.”

Sephiroth didn’t respond, instead indulging himself with one last look in the direction he knew Strife to be before going back to his paperwork. He himself didn’t fully understand Genesis’ reasoning. He only knew what the Lt. General had told him in similarly unwanted sharing sessions.

Zackary heaved a pathetic sigh, though Sephiroth didn’t know what he was supposed to take from it, and began rambling about the rest of his day.

More than a month passed before Strife did anything else out of the ordinary. Sephiroth went to work, and Strife moved in a different direction. Strife was closer than usual, though still out of sight. When Angeal entered his office to check and see how much work he had left, Sephiroth assumed it would be a good time to share this development.

Angeal immediately gathered Zackary and Genesis, piling them on Sephiroth’s couch to discuss possibilities.

Angeal attempted to insist that this change could be good, but the uneasy way he held himself said otherwise. Genesis waved it off by mocking Strife’s apparent cowardice while Zackary reminded them that Strife had only killed the Other Sephiroth because the Other Sephiroth had gone “Wackadoo.”

Sephiroth didn’t have enough evidence to form an opinion.

He agreed to return to the SOLDIER compound earlier than usual, though he had no intentions of joining them for whatever insipid action film Zackary had picked out. It wasn’t until they were nearly at the compound that Sephiroth realized his connection to Strife was strengthening. Strife was inside the building.

Sephiroth kept it to himself at first, assuming it to be a sneak-attack. Strife was likely hiding in Sephiroth’s apartment, waiting to strike. Sephiroth would confront him alone – the presence of three other Firsts may scare Strife off – and if it got out of hand, his friends would hear the commotion and interfere. Angeal’s and Genesis’ apartments were two floors below Sephiroth’s own ( _he got a floor to himself)_ , making the likelihood of Strife causing any real harm before their appearance infinitesimal.

His plan changed when they reached the Lt. Generals’ floor and he somehow knew that Strife was _here_. The others shot him odd looks when he exited the elevator with them, but he swept past them without explanation. The hum of Strife’s presence sang as he closed in on Angeal’s door.

Sephiroth turned to his companions only long enough to mouth ‘Strife’ before reaching for the doorknob. The door swung open before Angeal could stop him, though the time traveler was quick to enter first. Over Angeal’s shoulder, Sephiroth saw Strife sitting casually on the couch reading one of Angeal’s books on botany.

Blue eyes rose slowly, flitting over Angeal to focus on Sephiroth. They didn’t stray when Zackary and Genesis forced their way past Sephiroth to act as guards.

“He’s not the same Sephiroth you knew. You don’t have to kill him.”

Strife didn’t acknowledge that Angeal had spoken.

“I know it’s hard. He looks the same. To someone who doesn’t know him, he might even act kind of similar – without the murder – but he isn’t. You have to trust me on this.”

“Put your weapons in the other room. I won’t kill an unarmed man.”

The deepness of Strife’s voice didn’t quite match his youthful appearance. After a few moments of indecision, Angeal removed his Buster Sword and went to the kitchen, coming back unarmed. He encouraged everyone else to do the same with a simple, “He’s a man of his word.”

Zackary caved first, likely due to his never ending trust in his mentor. Genesis went next, though much less peacefully and largely due to Angeal’s silent pleading. Strife either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the materia still on Genesis’ person: a deadly mistake either way.

Sephiroth took long minutes to decide on a plan of action not because he feared Strife could kill him before he could reach Masamune but because he didn’t like the thought of giving up his chance at fighting his apparent equal.

It was his curiosity that eventually had him separating himself from Masamune. Strife knew about things that Angeal could only guess at, and Sephiroth wanted solid answers. Only after he returned unarmed ( _as though he wasn’t a weapon in and of himself)_ did Strife look away from him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I want to save Sephiroth. If we prevent Jenova from getting to him, maybe we can stop everything else from happening, too. No remnants. No wild makonoids. The Planet lives.”

“I already took care of Jenova, and I’m not in the business of saving Sephiroth. So again: Why did you bring me here?”

Before Angeal could respond, Sephiroth cut in.

“What did you do to Mother?”

Strife’s gaze was instantly back on Sephiroth, heavier and more venomous than before.

“She is _not_ your mother.”

Sephiroth held the stare, questions burning in his throat in ways Hojo had always discouraged. Instead of asking any of them, Sephiroth attempted reasoning.

“Hojo informed me—”

“Hojo is a shit liar and an even shittier father. You’re a fool for believing him.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed into a glare.

“What grants you greater trustworthiness?”

“Nothing.” Strife set the book to the side and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “You can choose to believe that you’re the son of an alien who crashed here three thousand years ago, essentially making you some sort of god, or you can choose to believe you’re the son of a wayward scientist named Lucretia Crescent.”

Sephiroth couldn’t help the interest he felt at the new name, and by the way Strife’s lips thinned, he noticed.

“I don’t know much about Lucretia other than her consenting to injecting you with Jenova cells in utero and Hojo killing her shortly after your birth. I don’t care, either.” Dark blue eyes returned their focus to the light, mako blue of Angeal’s, and Sephiroth was dismissed. “Why?”

“As a safeguard. If we can’t save Sephiroth – if we’ve exhausted every possible option – then I don’t want him to have to suffer through Jenova for so long.”

Strife snorted humorlessly.

“So I’m the executioner.”

“Only if we can’t save him. Not a moment sooner.”

Strife didn’t respond, instead looking out the window to examine Midgar’s landscape.

“Listen to me, Strife. I was there. After I died, I watched over Genesis. When he died, I watched over Sephiroth, and when Sephiroth departed for the final time, I watched over you.”

“That was _you_?”

It was Angeal’s turn to appear surprised.

“You could feel me?”

Dark blue eyes flicked briefly over to Zackary before returning to Angeal. Strife gave no outward response. Sephiroth, perhaps to spite Strife’s disinterest in sharing information, pointed it out.

“You believed he was Zackary.”

Strife’s responding glare was hot enough to _burn_.

“Hey, it’s okay if you did.” Zackary spoke for the first time, his exuberance doing well to cover his nervousness. “I think it’s pretty awesome we were so close before. Uh, in the future. Whatever. You know what I mean. Point is I’m pretty stoked to be your friend.”

Zackary’s grin was bright and warm. Something akin to pain flashed across Strife’s expression before he regained his stoicism.

“We weren’t close. I don’t want to be friends with you.”

It was Zackary’s turn to look hurt.

“Did I do something wrong? In the future, I mean. Because him and me are technically two different people, and it wasn’t really me who did whatever he did. So I’m sorry if future me does something bad, but I feel like we could—”

“I would rather die than be friends with you.”

The words were harsh with none of the joking undertones Zackary and Genesis used when saying similar phrases. Zackary stiffened. Genesis stepped forward.

“You’re the _Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds_? What a joke.”

Strife didn’t deem Genesis’ barbs worthy of response, likely unaware the easiest way to incite Genesis’ anger was to ignore him. Genesis took two steps forward, Angeal’s sudden hold on his arm being the only thing stopping him from raging further.

“You think having killed the Other Sephiroth makes you irreplaceable? Angeal and I were deteriorating. Zack was dead. You weren’t the choice SOLDIER. You were just the only SOLDIER left.” Genesis’ lips turned upwards in a vicious grin. “From what I heard, you weren’t even solidly against the Other Sephiroth. Can someone say black materia?”

Strife’s shoulders immediately stiffened while his fingers curled into fists, but he said nothing.

“Genesis!” Angeal’s disapproval was obvious even without the verbal chiding. “Strife, don’t listen to him. He’s just—”

Angeal cut himself off as Strife stood up. The blonde was remarkably shorter than Sephiroth had expected him to be.

“I haven’t decided what to do about Sephiroth yet. I’m going to join SOLDIER to reduce the distance between us, and when I decide one way or the other, you’ll know.”

Strife walked out of the room without looking back, and no one chased after him.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Cloud Strife was a pain in the ass. Genesis had thought as much since he first heard the name, and watching the blonde being interrogated by Tseng only heightened that opinion.

Strife was leaning back in his chair, expression infuriatingly blank, and looking for all the world like he was waiting on food at a restaurant. Bored.

“I’ll ask you again: where did you get your enhancements?”

“I fell into mako.”

“How did you get out?”

“Swam.”

“If you give up your supplier, you can still join SOLDIER. Mako is a dangerous, generally poisonous substance. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

Strife didn’t respond.

“Who is your supplier?”

“I fell into mako.”

“How long have you been enhancing yourself?”

“I fell into mako.”

“I don’t think you understand. You, a civilian, turning up with eyes like a First Class SOLDIER is a threat to national security. If we don’t figure out the source of your enhancements, not only will you not become a SOLDIER, you’ll be killed. Understood? This isn’t a game for children.”

The fear that flashed across Strife’s face caused a vindictive feeling of superiority to bloom in Genesis’ chest. The fear quickly faded to a barely-there nervousness, but it was enough. Strife moved to get closer to Tseng only to be stopped by the SOLDIER-level cuffs strapping him to the chair. He tossed them a quick glance before leaning his entire upper body forward. Tseng copied the motion in a more graceful manner, no doubt more than ready to get actual information.

Strife took a quiet breath that had even Genesis leaning forward slightly before whispering, “I fell into mako.”

And then he leaned back, as cool and superior as ever.

Genesis cursed Strife, cursed Angeal for bringing Strife with him, and then cursed Sephiroth just for the heck of it.

When the interrogation led nowhere and Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis all grudgingly weighed in that they thought he should be allowed to take the SOLDIER exam, Strife ended up in the VR room. Strife held his ridiculously large sword like it weighed nothing and stared down a monster-infested Midgar without fear.

Technically, with this many monsters and the VR set on high, even a SOLDIER Second would have serious issues. The usual SOLDIER exam proctor, however, had been dismissed, leaving Strife’s fate in the hands of the General and his two Lieutenants.

Seeing as Strife would be getting a free pass into SOLDIER anyhow, there was no need to go easy on him. Only Zack shifted on his feet as he watched the VR boot up, somehow managing to be nervous for Strife’s safety after being so bluntly discarded.

The first thing Strife did was take to the air and run, backtracking all the way outside of Midgar.

“ _As fear rains down, the hero stands his ground._ Looks like the hero isn’t a hero at all. He’s a—”

Genesis cut himself off as Strife held his sword off to the side and gave one powerful swing. For a three full seconds, nothing happened. Then buildings started to topple. Monsters screeched, and it took Genesis a shameful amount of time to realize Strife had thrown a Quaga in with his general attack.

Less than a minute later, all of Midgar had toppled, and the VR powered itself off. Not a single monster had survived the attack.

“Holy fucking shit.”

For once, Genesis had nothing to add.

Strife reattached his sword to the magnetic harness on his back and took off the VR headset. Startlingly blue eyes locked on Sephiroth’s despite the fact that Strife couldn’t see them through the one-way window, and it was that easy precision that caused cold fear to trickle down Genesis’ back.

Just as Sephiroth always knew what direction Strife was in, it seemed that Strife always knew what direction Sephiroth was in. The only difference being that Strife had honed the phenomenon into a skill. A weapon. He could pinpoint Sephiroth’s whereabouts without question, and if he wanted to use that to kill the General—

“Are we sure this is a good idea?”

Angeal locked eyes with Genesis, and for the first time since his friend traveled back from the future, Genesis understood where Angeal was coming from. They needed Strife on their side because Strife on any other side would be destruction at its finest.

It took exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes after the exam to instate Strife as a SOLDIER Third Class, assign him a roommate-less apartment, and make it achingly clear that he should at least attempt to fit in.

The last part was, of course, ignored. Strife had a stick up his ass if Genesis had ever seen one, and that was only exacerbated by the way he spent all of his time doing basic kata, sitting casually in Sephiroth’s office _(without invitation)_ , or disappearing to his room.

Oh, and the way that he continually shot down Zack’s every attempt at camaraderie. Angeal called the freshly promoted First a puppy for a reason, and not even Genesis could stand seeing the man get kicked around for too long.

So, despite multiple promises to multiple people, when Genesis heard Strife once again tearing Zack down, he found his temper flaring out of control.

“ _We rush toward the light with dreams of valor. A monster awaits with the face of the Goddess. Beware his forked tongue.”_

Genesis waited for some sign of confusion or distaste and found himself flummoxed when Strife didn’t hesitate to respond.

“ _My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honor remains. The arrow has left the bow of the Goddess.”_

“You know _Loveless_?”

“I’ve read it a few times. It’s one of the few books that survives the fall of the world.” Their eyes finally met. “Are there still ongoing productions?”

And just like that, Genesis’ anger evaporated.

“Are there? This years’ production of _Loveless_ is one of the best I’ve ever seen!” Genesis flopped elegantly down on the couch beside of Strife. “Would you like to go?”

“I would.”

Genesis could feel the incredulous stares of Zack and Sephiroth without looking. He, himself, felt some twisted mix of pride and irritation dancing in his chest. This was the man who insulted Zack, loathed Angeal, and wanted to kill Sephiroth. He was infuriating, and he was unattainable. To be the first one to catch his attention should have been a tactical maneuver of gaining the upper hand.

Instead, Genesis found himself preening.

When days turned to weeks and Genesis remained the only person Strife paid any attention to, his anger melted to nothing. They were close enough that at one point Genesis even lent Strife _Beloved_ , the sequel to _Loveless_ , and before he could make a threat about returning the book unharmed Strife had waved a hand and said, “Yeah, yeah. Firaga to the face. I got it.”

Their friendship was practically perfect.

Strife was quiet and aloof, but not haughty. He didn’t often respond to what Genesis had to say, but he listened. And that was fine because Genesis loved to talk.

About _Loveless_.

About the war.

About his triumphs.

About his rivalry.

About materia.

There was a moment where Strife pointed out that Genesis only ever spoke of his strengths, and he responded by speaking of his childhood, too.

Strife was not harmless, but he didn’t mean to harm. He wouldn’t spill Genesis’ secrets any more than Angeal. And for that, Genesis found himself enraptured.

It only made sense that the fascination with Strife’s apparent loyalty would turn to anger when Strife outright refused to return the favor.

The blonde never spoke of the future or even the time that had already passed. He never explained his dislike for Zack or his apparent hatred for Angeal. He never spoke a word to or about Sephiroth, though the General was always nearby.

They were walking from the office to the SOLDIER compound when his frustrations bubbled over. If Strife refused to engage in an intellectual relationship, a physical one would do. He was, after all, Sephiroth’s equal. Any rival of Sephiroth’s was a rival of Genesis by default.

Genesis demanded they fight.

Strife didn’t deem that worthy of a response, either.

No matter how Genesis taunted or threatened, Strife never rose to the challenge. He never became agitated. He never reached for his sword. It was infuriating.

Then, as though specifically to add insult to injury, Sephiroth requested a spar, too.

Strife looked up from polishing First Tsurugi, his mako-bright eyes focused too intently to be healthy, before saying, “I won’t spar with you. I’ll fight though.”

“Fight?”

“To the death.”

Genesis had choked on his anger while Sephiroth leaned back in his chair to contemplate the proposal. If Angeal or Zack had been there, maybe they would have shut down the idea before there was anything to contemplate.

As is, Sephiroth said, “Your terms are unequal. I will not kill you even if I win.”

“What do you want if you win?”

“Information.”

The answer was too quick for anyone to think Sephiroth hadn’t been waiting for this. Strife didn’t hesitate to agree.

“If I win, you die. If you win, I talk. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They didn’t shake on it.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Sephiroth was blatantly ignoring his friends. They meant well, he was sure, but being well-meaning rarely amounted to anything strategically.

Angeal and Zackary were appalled at Sephiroth’s intent to fight Strife, though for different reasons. Zackary was terrified Strife would receive a debilitating wound and never warm up to any of them. Angeal was terrified Sephiroth would be killed. Sephiroth found himself unable to empathize with either of their plights.

“There’s still time to call this off.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Seph. Please? I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.”

Genesis waved an unworried hand in the face of Zackary’s plea.

“I say let them fight. Strife deserves to learn a lesson or two in humility. _The hero’s true height is known only after he rises from a fall._ ”

 _Loveless_ : Act IV, Scene II.

“Strife is awaiting me. If you do not wish to see us fight, do not come.”

Sephiroth took off for their assigned meeting place without further ado. Strife was, as predicted, already present. He held First Tsurugi with the confidence of someone equally ready to slice flesh and nothing at all.

Dark blue eyes tracked Sephiroth’s every move, and the General was once again struck by the novelty of fighting someone who felt neither anticipation nor trepidation. Strife watched him because he knew Sephiroth should be watched. Nothing more.

Masamune felt unusually light in Sephiroth’s hands as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Seeing that Strife wouldn’t be the one to start, Sephiroth took the honors and charged. The moment he did, Strife _moved_.

Sephiroth blocked on instinct.

Strife’s blows were swift and harsh and nearly impossible to predict. He seemed to be everywhere at once, keeping Sephiroth on a constant defensive for the first time since he was a child. In an attempt to reassess and hopefully gain ground, Sephiroth took to the air.

Strife followed with ease.

If anything, the blonde seemed faster with his feet off the ground. Sephiroth kept Masamune close to offset their speed difference, sure that as long as he could keep blocking, he could come up with a new plan. Strife, almost in spite of Sephiroth’s plans, _split his sword_ to attack from multiple angles at once.

Whatever confidence Sephiroth had in his ability to keep up abruptly vanished. In the next moment, he was hurtling through the air faster than he could stabilize and tasted more than felt the hard ground biting into his skin.

Sephiroth acquainted himself with the ground six more times before Strife met him there, sword swinging. A familiar Buster Sword and red rapier met Strife’s blow before it could touch Sephiroth’s neck, but Strife saw them coming just as he had seen everything else.

His fusion sword had already split, the larger counterpart fending off two Lt. Generals while its smaller half went for Sephiroth’s throat. Sephiroth stared fearlessly into dark blue eyes and accepted his fate.

The killing blow never came.

He felt the kiss of First Tsurugi’s blade against his neck. He listened to the chatter of metal against metal as Strife effortlessly held Angeal and Genesis’ interference at bay. He watched intense blue eyes watch him back.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you move?”

And just like that, Sephiroth’s shock over finding someone who utterly outmatched him was overwhelmed by awe.

“You would have caught me eventually.”

Strife didn’t believe him, which was fine because Sephiroth was lying.

Whether or not Strife realized that Sephiroth had chosen death over dragging his only friends into a losing battle was unclear. All Sephiroth knew was that one moment he was prepared to die, and the next Strife was pulling back and reconnecting his swords.

“Why spare me?”

When Strife didn’t respond, Sephiroth pressed forward.

“You’ve earned my death.”

An immediate cacophony of: “Sephiroth, leave it.” “Seph, don’t!” and “For once in your life, don’t scoff in the face of _the gift of the Goddess_!” fell on deaf ears as Strife stared into Sephiroth’s soul.

“I want to kill the Sephiroth who ruins the world. You aren’t him.”

Sephiroth couldn’t say why, but for the first time since Angeal had traveled back and warned him of his future self, he believed that to be true.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

“Let’s play a game.”

Sephiroth ignored Zackary’s attempt at drawing Strife into a friendship in favor of finishing his paperwork.

“It doesn’t have to be hard. We can do icebreakers.” His bright grin promised good times. Sephiroth ignored that, too.

Strife stepped in with a simple, “No, Zack.”

“C’mon! It’ll be great! Just watch: Seph and me will start.”

That, of course, made Sephiroth look up. He intended to inform Zackary that he had no time to indulge in childish games, but the glow of begging violet eyes made him falter. Sephiroth only had three friends – had only ever had three friends – and he was weak to all of them.

So instead of crushing Zackary’s hopes, he set his pen down and asked, “How long will this take?”

Zackary jumped up as though he had been hit by a Bolt.

“Super quick! It’ll be an easy one. Like, we can guess what Cloud’s favorite thing is. I think it’s chocobos.”

Zackary gave him an encouraging grin, and Sephiroth turned his attention to Strife.

Sephiroth did not, in fact, think Strife looked like a chocobo person. Strife was strong and capable and seemed to have at least minor knowledge of most subjects. He enjoyed training and studying. He enjoyed the silence.

“First Tsurugi.”

“No! You can’t go guessing swords just ‘cause Masamune is your other half or whatever. What do you think _he_ would like?”

Zackary gestured towards Strife with his entire arm. Strife, in turn, said, “First Tsurugi is my favorite thing.”

Zackary rolled his eyes melodramatically, groaning for far too loud and long considering the situation.

“Not you, too, Spike!”

Strife practically flinched, though from what, Sephiroth was unsure.

“Okay, okay. Maybe that was a bad example. Let’s try another game.”

“Zack.”

“Zackary.”

“Don’t worry! Neither of you have to start this time!”

And then he was out the door. Sephiroth and Strife shared a look that turned into a staring contest.

Eventually, despite the comfort of their silence, Sephiroth said, “The care you give your sword is admirable.”

“You too.”

Sephiroth thought about responding but decided against it. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Strife’s words made Sephiroth feel… pleasant. He didn’t wish to ruin that pleasantry by saying the wrong thing.

When Zackary returned, he had Angeal and Genesis with him. Angeal appeared apologetic while Genesis acted as though Sephiroth’s office was his own.

“ _The heroes gather to learn the truth of the_ _G_ _oddess_.”

 _Loveless,_ Act I, Scene II.

“ _Truth poisoned with deceit burns their ears. Fact is lost to fiction.”_

 _Loveless_ , Act III, Scene V.

Genesis sneered.

“Zack says you’re going to tell us about yourself? Or will the information that falls from your tongue be poisoned with falsities?”

Genesis stared at Strife, who instead turned his attention to Zackary. Zackary scratched the back of his head.

“Well… he isn’t exactly going to tell us about himself, but we are going to learn more about him.”

Genesis’ distaste immediately turned itself on Zackary, who held up defensive hands and a deceptively innocent expression.

“It’s a game! I saw some army regs playing it on a mission a while back. It’s called ‘Never Have I Ever.’ You hold up five fingers and say, ‘Never have I ever blank. Anyone who’s done the thing that the speaker hasn’t done puts down a finger. Once you’re out of fingers, you’re done.”

Zackary must have seen a protest in the making because he quickly splayed his hand against an invisible wall and continued, “I’ll go first. Never have I ever heard voices in my head.”

“Ooooh! I get it!”

Genesis’ exclamation was innocent, but his grin was vicious. Zackary returned the smile with a secretive grin that immediately gave his plan away. They were to keep their comments ridiculous to assure Strife would speak.

Everyone joined Zackary in raising five fingers but Strife, who raised four.

“Seriously?”

“Only one of them was imaginary.”

Strife shrugged as though that made a difference – and perhaps it did – before looking to Sephiroth.

“I have not been a professional chocobo racer.”

“No! You’re supposed to say ‘Never have I ever been a professional chocobo racer.’ Wording counts.”

Sephiroth ignored Zackary’s outburst to watch Strife put a finger down. Zackary stared with wide eyes.

“Wait. Legit?”

“It was a good way to earn gil on the side. I was undefeated at the Golden Saucer.”

“Aw man! That’s so cool.”

Genesis waved a dismissive hand at Strife’s apparently impressive chocobo racing career.

“My turn then. Never have I ever been to space.”

The smug expression on Genesis’ face fell along with one of Strife’s fingers.

“Sephiroth summoned Meteor in an attempt to destroy the Planet. We had to go to space to stop it before that could happen.”

“Holy shit. What was it like?”

Strife turned to the wide-eyed Zackary with something akin to a smile twitching at his lips.

“Empty.”

And then it was Angeal’s turn. He glanced around, no doubt unsure what could be more outlandish than going to space, before finally saying, “Never have I ever been a terrorist?”

Strife’s fourth finger folded.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You were a terrorist?”

“Eco-terrorist, technically. I was the leader of AVALANCHE for a long time. I’ve also been a mercenary.” And then, seeing as it was his turn, “Never have I ever been a SOLDIER First Class.”

Everyone but Strife lowered a finger.

“The hell? If you weren’t a First, what were you?”

“Nothing. I didn’t get into SOLDIER last time.”

“Then how—”

“Your turn, Zack.”

Zackary’s teeth clacked as he closed his mouth.

“I, uh, okay. Um, never have I ever cross-dressed.”

Strife folded his final finger and reopened his book.

After a few beats of silence, Genesis said, “Well? Are you not going to explicate?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.”

And that was that. Strife began to read. The others attempted to keep playing. Sephiroth went back to his paperwork.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Zack was a great judge of character.

Zack was not an airhead.

Zack loved his friends.

These were the things Zack kept in mind as he continually attempted to befriend Cloud. No matter how often he got pushed to the side or ignored, he trusted the little voice inside that said he and Cloud were supposed to be friends.

He just needed an opening, that was all.

So he assured everyone that he was fine, that Cloud was good at heart, and kept trying.

Unfortunately, not everyone had Zack’s immediate affinity for Cloud. The other SOLDIERs didn’t like the way Cloud had circumvented the cadet program and SOLDIER exam. They didn’t like the way he never spoke and didn’t ever have missions. They certainly hadn’t liked it when he had started getting along with Genesis.

And when that particular relationship devolved into something less than friendly, the SOLDIERs felt empowered. They gossiped louder and very purposefully knocked shoulders with Cloud in the halls.

They were waiting for an opening, too: a chance to be violent and prove Cloud didn’t deserve his high horse.

Five months, two weeks, and six days after Cloud joined SOLDIER, both of those openings came.

It started with two SOLDIERs, a First and a Second, running the rumor mill near Zack, who pretended to ignore them while doing squats.

“I’m tellin’ you I don’t think he took the exam at all. He’s too scrawny.”

“Who cares? He’s a SOLDIER now, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I’m not sayin’ we get him kicked out. I’m sayin’ we use him for what he’s good for. I mean, he obviously trades good times for favors.”

“Don’t be a dumbass. Sephiroth, Hewley, and Rhapsodos are the only ones with enough weight to pull a stunt like that, and none of them would.”

They glanced conspiratorially at Cloud, who was off in a corner of the training room _reading_. Then they lowered their voices enough that Zack actually had to strain to eavesdrop.

The First oh-so-quietly said, “What about Fair?”

The Second failed to hide his surprise and tossed a speculative glance at Zack.

Zack pretended not to notice.

“What about him?”

“Well, don’t you think it’s weird Strife don’t give a shit about Fair while Fair is trippin’ over himself tryin’ to get Strife’s attention? And Fair’s got that mentor-thing goin’ on with Hewley, so if he asked real nice-like, I bet he could get Hewley to pull strings for him.”

“Shit. And now Strife wants to cover it up by ignoring Fair. Cut all ties.” The Second gave a low whistle. “That’s cold.”

“It’s how he functions. Fair is just too nice to call him out on it. But if we did—”

“He’d cave faster than a cactuer hit by a Fira.”

Seemingly empowered by the Second’s agreement, the First stalked over to Cloud.

Zack ceased his squats to watch.

“Hey, pretty boy. Don’t you think it’s time you gave up the act?”

Cloud, surprisingly, looked up. He stared the First down in that unnervingly calm way of his before saying, “I do.”

Before the First could respond, Cloud closed his book and stood. Quick as a flash, Cloud’s fist was buried in the other man’s abdomen. He sent the First flying across the room, through a wall, through another wall, and finally crashing to the floor. The First didn’t get back up.

Strife stretched out his fingers, curled them back into a fist, and relaxed back into his usual uncaring stance.

In that moment, Zack saw his opening.

He waited until nightfall, well after Cloud had secluded himself in his apartment, and took a leap of faith. When Cloud answered the door, he looked unamused. Zack glanced past him to see what appeared to be the skeleton of a motorcycle and a hell of a lot of parts.

“Hey, man. Sorry to call on you so late.”

“It’s fine.”

Cloud made no move to invite Zack inside. Zack wasn’t deterred.

“Look, I just wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier.”

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. It’s the only time you’ve ever reacted to anything they’ve said.”

Cloud grunted in what could have been affirmation or forced ignorance.

“It wasn’t what they were saying about you, was it?”

A blank stare.

“It’s what they were saying about me.”

Cloud made to close the door but Zack forced it back open.

“You care about me, don’t you? All that stuff Angeal was saying about you tending to my gravestone was true, wasn’t it? You’re the one who buried me!”

“I never buried you.”

“Stop saying that. Angeal saw you tending to my grave. He watched you!”

“A gravestone, Zack. Not a grave. There was no body.”

Cloud’s stoic mask fell for a moment to reveal something dark and painful, giving Zack the encouragement he needed to push his way into the apartment. He closed the door behind him.

“If you wanted to keep my memory alive that badly, we must have been friends.”

“We weren’t friends. I wasn’t friends with you, and you shouldn’t have been friends with me.”

“But I was.”

Cloud ducked his head, choosing to say nothing.

“What happened between us?”

“Nothing.”

“Was it something I said? Something I did? Throw me a bone here, Spike! I’m getting desperate!”

Zack threw his hands up in exasperation. Cloud choked on air and roughly tugged his fingers through messy locks, indisputable self-loathing suddenly clear on his face.

“You died.”

“I—”

“Our first fight with Sephiroth, you did the most damage. I just tossed him into the reactor at the end. Somewhere in between him starting the fight and me killing him, he ran us both through with Masamune. You were a SOLDIER First. I was a regular army trooper.

“We laid there for Planet only knows how long before Hojo found us. He was furious we managed to take down his perfect specimen and vowed we’d help him make Sephiroth 2.0. We were injected with S-cells – S for Sephiroth – and experimented on for five years. You broke us both out and we escaped, but I was in a mako-poison induced coma. Dead-weight. You should have left me behind.”

Understanding dawned on Zack.

“But I didn’t.”

Cloud’s eyes refocused, looking almost as if he’d forgotten Zack was there.

“No. You didn’t. You dragged my half-lifeless corpse around for a full year before they caught up to us, and then you just refused to leave. You took out an entire battalion while attempting to protect me, and then...”

Cloud’s lips moved wordlessly for a few seconds before their eyes locked and Zack realized the blonde was close to crying.

“You should have left, Zack. You were always the hero, not me. You would have done it better.”

For the first time in a very long time, Zack found himself speechless.

“They shot you down. I was just starting to come to when I saw you fall. When I heard you asking if it was always that cold. When you begged for me to come closer so you wouldn’t have to die alone. Gaia, you were so scared.” Cloud’s voice quieted to barely a whisper. “By the time I really woke up, it was too late. We were both lying in your blood, and it was so _cold_.”

“Cloud, you couldn’t have—”

“That’s not the worst of it! I didn’t just leave you to die on your own. I forgot about you! I couldn’t—couldn’t take what had happened. I couldn’t function. It _broke_ me, Zack. I ended up with some awkward mesh of our memories and carried on like I was you. Not only did I not save you; not only did I not comfort you while you died; not only did I not bury you: I forgot you existed!”

And then Cloud really was crying.

It was momentarily beyond Zack’s comprehension that all of the anguish and self-hatred seeping from the still-gaping wound of his death was _for him_. Cloud wasn’t avoiding his friendship because he hated Zack. He was avoiding it to protect Zack. To make amends for something long past out of some twisted sense of guilt.

Yes, Zack had died before reaching 25, but he had died protecting the savior of the Planet. More than that, he had died protecting his best friend.

Zack pulled Cloud into a tight hug almost without thinking about it. Cloud immediately sank into his embrace, soft tears turning to harsh sobs and watery apologies. Zack let his own tears soak into blonde locks as he attempted to assure Cloud he would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Because Zack was meant for more than selling Maiden’s Kisses and shucking tree nuts.

He was meant to be Cloud Strife’s friend.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Sephiroth liked Strife.

Even before their fight stripped Strife of the title “enemy,” Sephiroth liked him. He liked the way Strife felt no need to fill the air with useless chatter. He liked that Strife disliked “small talk.” He liked the way Strife practiced kata for hours on end and felt no need to prove himself to others. He liked the care Strife put into First Tsurugi.

More than that, he liked the way Strife understood him.

It was easy to overlook at first: little things like Strife leaving his polishing materials behind when Sephiroth was feeling restless. It became more blatant as time went by that Strife wasn’t making assumptions on what Sephiroth would like. He simply knew.

Strife knew when to be quiet and when to ask a question. He knew when Sephiroth was finished speaking versus contemplating his answer. He could tell when Sephiroth was frustrated or tired, and he was neither wary nor overly-comforting when Sephiroth was in a less-than-friendly mood.

As time went on, it seemed like Sephiroth was the person Strife _least_ disliked. It was odd and pleasant, and Sephiroth understood why Genesis preened when he had been receiving this attention. For once, Sephiroth didn’t feel like he was tolerating the friends of others but spending time with a friend of his own. Someone he didn’t have to share or compete with for his other friends’ attentions.

Strife was his.

Maybe that was why Sephiroth had trouble believing it when Strife came in shoulder-to-shoulder with Zackary, _smiling_. He had never seen Strife smile before. It was breathtaking in a way Sephiroth hadn’t considered possible.

The venomous medley of ugly emotions that bloomed for Zackary immediately afterwards were equally surprising, though far less welcome. Sephiroth didn’t understand any of it.

“Well, well, well. _Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess._ Are you his newest snare, Zack?”

 _Loveless,_ Act I, Scene I.

“He’s not _snaring_ anybody, Gen.”

“Oh? So you think he’ll reveal to you his mysterious past in hopes of kindling a true friendship?”

Zackary looked off to the side in a display of either embarrassment or guilt, and Sephiroth felt his boiling anger/possessiveness/frustration/betrayal clash with his blood running cold.

“Look guys, he’s… We’ve all got shit we don’t want to relive. He’ll tell us when he’s ready. If he’s ready.”

Strife gently knocked shoulders with Zackary again. Purposefully. Zackary smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. Something inside of Sephiroth violently rejected the entire interaction.

“ _Zack_.”

“Sorry, Spike. I can’t help it! Your hair’s surprisingly soft.”

“What the fuck—”

“Calm down, Genesis. I’m sure this can all be explained.”

“Explained? Just yesterday the only person Strife liked less than Zack was _you_ , Ange. Now they’re best friends? I don’t buy it.”

“He’s always been my bud. He was just trying to look out for me.”

“Bullshit. What pretty stories did he dribble into your ears?”

“None of your business, Gen.”

“Stop.”

Everyone turned to Sephiroth, who only had eyes for Strife. Dark blue eyes searched him, looking for reasoning Sephiroth himself was uncertain of. When Strife narrowed his eyes, for once unable to sort out Sephiroth’s emotions, Sephiroth turned on his heels and left. Training could wait.

Unfortunately, not seeing Strife and Zackary together only minimally improved Sephiroth’s mood. He couldn’t stop thinking about them and the way Strife had smiled. He couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much, and that bothered him even more. By lunch time, Sephiroth’s mood had simmered down to a dark frustration.

Then Genesis entered.

“ _A journey devoid of understanding is empty of true treasure._ I’ve decided to give Strife a second chance.”

Sephiroth ignored him and kept his eyes firmly on his paperwork.

“Zack and I had a long talk, and he’s got a point about it being reasonable for Strife not to want to empty his closet for a bunch of strangers. That, and Strife gave up some info.”

Sephiroth didn’t look up.

“He said he got Zack killed in the last life. Didn’t say how, but that’s fine. It’s understandable. If I thought I could get Zack killed, I’d avoid him, too.”

Sephiroth’s grip on his pen tightened, but he very deliberately did _not_ look up.

“So I’ve decided to allow him to be my friend again.”

Sephiroth’s pen snapped.

“Goddess! What the fuck, Sephiroth?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Out.”

Genesis cursed all the way to Angeal’s office and then loudly complained about Sephiroth’s mood to their mutual friend. Sephiroth ignored it.

Over the course of the next three days, his mood only served to worsen. Strife went back to sitting in Sephiroth’s office, never saying anything. Zackary would chat amicably with him and make plans to go eat or play video games. Genesis would ramble on about plays and general drama, just as he did before their falling out.

Only Angeal continued to avoid Strife, and that made Angeal the only person who didn’t incite Sephiroth’s black mood. Sephiroth didn’t understand why he felt that way, only that he did.

It was on a day when they were all together that everything went downhill.

“Genesis, leave it be.”

“No. I am sick and tired of princess Sephiroth throwing a hissy fit over nothing! Why are you so pissed off?”

“I am not.”

“You are! You’ve been stalking around for days now like you’re about to go Jenova on us, and there’s no fucking reason for it.”

“I am not angry.”

“Irritated then.”

“I am not irritated.”

“You are—”

“He says he’s not, Gen. Just leave him alone.”

“Why are we all tiptoeing around him? It’s glaringly obvious how pissed he is for no Goddess-damned reason!”

“He’s not angry. He’s frustrated.”

Both Genesis and Sephiroth turned their attention to Strife.

“Bullshit. I’ve known him half my life, and he’s as pissed off as I’ve ever seen him.”

“Not pissed. Frustrated.”

“Pissed!”

“Frustrated.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“I know because my life depends on it. The difference between him being pissed off and frustrated is the difference between Masamune at a 90 degree angle and a 45 degree angle. And _that_ ,” Strife pointed to Sephiroth, “is frustrated.”

And somehow, that made it better. Both Strife and Sephiroth had other friends, but Sephiroth was still the one Strife _understood_.

“I am frustrated. He is correct.” Sephiroth nodded once then added, “I apologize for expressing my frustrations as I did.”

Angeal took the opening for what it was and asked why Sephiroth was frustrated. Sephiroth turned back to his paperwork.

“I do not know.”

“What started it?”

“I do not know.”

“What can we do to help?”

Sephiroth looked to Strife, hoping against all odds that the blonde would step in and explain Sephiroth’s emotions again. He didn’t.

“I believe I am fine now.”

“That doesn’t make any—”

“Hey guys, can I have some time alone with Seph?”

The others exchanged glances before Genesis expressed his distaste for mysteries and told Zackary not to leave until he had gotten to the bottom of things. When they were finally alone, Zackary settled onto the couch across from Sephiroth. Sephiroth, in turn, stopped pretending to do paperwork.

“Seph, do you… I don’t know how to say this without it sounding super fucking awkward, but do you like Cloud?”

“Of course.”

“I, uh, no. I mean do you _like_ -like him?”

Sephiroth tilted his head slightly, an action he was told looked more predatory than curious.

“I do not understand.”

“I mean do you… okay, well. How about this: do you like touching him?”

“I enjoyed our fight.”

“No, not fighting. I mean like nice-touching. Like, would you like to hold his hand?”

“What for?”

“Ugh.” Zackary buried his head in his hands. “That’s not—no. The reason I’m asking these things is that you got mad, er, _frustrated_ right after Spike and I became friends. Right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, it’s because you were jealous, yeah?”

“Jealous?”

“Of me and Spike.”

Sephiroth leaned back, rolling the word over in his mind and attempting to apply it to himself. He had never been jealous before. Was this what it felt like?

“Why would I be jealous?”

“Well, ‘cause you like him. You know, romantically. You like it when he pays attention to you and does things with you and listens to you. You like spending time with him. And it sucks when you think someone else is going to take him away from you.”

Sephiroth blinked once then once again.

“What do I do about it?”

Zackary seemed to melt into the chair in relief.

“Ask him out!”

“Out where?”

“I don’t know. Dinner. A movie. Wherever you want.”

Sephiroth nodded, accepting that he would need more time to research romantic inclinations and what to do with them before taking action. Zackary laughed.

“Shiva’s tits, I was expecting that to go a lot worse.”

“You are better versed in emotions than I. It would be unwise to ignore your council.”

Zackary laughed again, and for the first time in days, Sephiroth enjoyed the sound.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Angeal perched inconspicuously with Zack and Genesis by Sephiroth’s office door. It was cracked open just enough for them, stacked one on top of the other, to peer through. The reason they were peering was reading on Sephiroth’s couch, unaware of what was to come.

“Strife.”

Strife looked up, entirely unperturbed by their height difference.

“I request the right to court you.”

“...What?”

“I have romantic inclinations towards you and would like the chance to express them via courtship. Dating.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Genesis covered his mouth to hold back a chuckle and Angeal elbowed him in the side.

“It is alright. I also found the information sudden and somewhat disquieting. You may take your time to comprehend and make a decision.”

“Sephiroth, what are you talking about?”

“Zackary informed me that my behavior bore all the symptoms of romantic inclination, or ‘liking you,’ as he so put it. This is the next course of action to be taken.”

“Is it now?”

“It is. All of my readings direct me to either court you or have sex with you. This seemed the preferable option.”

Strife looked unamused. Zack put his hand to his mouth and whispered something so low it was unintelligible.

“Right. Well, do you want to have sex with me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you want to sit with me and play video games?”

“I do not.”

“What makes you think you like me?”

“Zackary.”

Strife rolled his eyes, giving Angeal the distinct impression that Strife wasn’t surprised by the response.

“Uh-huh. Well, what made _him_ think you like me?”

“I wish to spend time with you and enjoy our conversations. Fighting with you makes me feel alive in ways I had not known were possible. I do not like it when you devote large amounts of your time to others.”

Strife actually scoffed.

“I guess that’s not surprising. You always were an obsessive bastard.”

Strife closed his book and leaned forward, for the first time looking every bit the SOLDIER Angeal knew him to be.

“You don’t like me. Zack just likes it when everybody gets a happily-ever-after. You feel a connection to me. I get that. Finding someone who isn’t afraid of you or reveres you is unthinkable, and to have someone who can actually defeat you? Magic. But it’s not a romantic ‘like’ you’re feeling. It’s just a want for friendship. Validation. I get that, too. So if you want to fight more, I’ll fight you. If you want to talk or hang out, I’ll consider it.”

Then, as though he was the one that had known Sephiroth for the majority of his life, Strife leaned back in his chair and gave Sephiroth an appraising look.

“I’ll be your friend.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you.”

Strife went back to his book without another word and Genesis pulled back to run to his office, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Angeal was about to follow when he heard Sephiroth speak again.

“Would you be available to ‘hang out’ tonight?”

“Doing what?”

“Angeal is making dinner. Zackary and Genesis will be there as well.”

“Alright.”

Zack’s hand gripped Angeal’s bicep and shook, silently relaying his excitement. Angeal was too flummoxed by the entire encounter to know how to feel. He grabbed the back of Zack’s shirt and hurried to Genesis’ office.

Genesis, of course, was still laughing.

“Oh, Goddess! That was perfect! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy to get turned down!”

“I know, right? I mean, I get that he isn’t very good at understanding emotions, but Odin! It’s like he just believes whatever he’s told!”

Angeal sighed.

“That’s because he does, Zack. He knows he isn’t great at discerning emotions so he trusts us to discern them for him. But I don’t think that’s the thing to take away from this. I think Strife might have had a point.”

“Seriously? You think Seph isn’t love-struck?”

Genesis guffawed at Zack’s disbelieving question.

“Oh, Sephiroth is definitely head-over-heels. Any more pheromones and they’d be starring in a play.”

“I don’t think—you know, it doesn’t matter. I have to start dinner.”

“This early? Why?”

“Oh, shit! You missed it! Seph asked Cloudy to come to dinner tonight!”

“Seriously? Oh my Goddess. And he’s coming?”

Angeal left Genesis’ office in favor of heading to his apartment to make dinner. Their voices blended into the rest of the noises he usually worked to filter out, and Angeal took time just to breathe.

It was good for Sephiroth to branch out and care for others. It was encouraging to see him so unsure. As a friend, Angeal was glad Strife was coming.

As the man Strife hated, he was terrified.

Angeal didn’t regret what he had done. Not in the slightest. He also wasn’t naive enough to think Strife didn’t resent him for it. And if he had purposefully avoided having downtime with Strife up to this point, who could blame him? He had given them both a second chance, and that was fair trade.

Angeal repeated that to himself up until Genesis and Zack barged into his apartment. He repeated it once more when Sephiroth arrived at 7 o’clock sharp. And when Strife showed up at 7:18?

Strife was lucky Angeal was so compassionate.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I just made a conglomeration of everyone’s favorites. Hope you don’t mind.”

Strife was sitting between Sephiroth and Zack, across from Genesis and diagonal to Angeal. He stared at the food on his plate unseeingly, and for a minute, Angeal thought Strife wouldn’t respond. Then, so quietly that Angeal almost had to strain to hear him, Strife spoke.

“Near the end, the only food left was mako-poisoned. I was the only one who could eat it without getting sick. Even that was scarce in the last year or two, but they needed someone who could protect them, so I ate. I ate while everyone else starved. Shiva, it tasted like shit.”

Strife’s smile was humorless as he stabbed his potatoes, and for the first time, Angeal thought that maybe what he had seen and what Strife had lived were two very different things.

“So yeah. This is good. Fantastic even.”

Zack coughed awkwardly into his napkin, no doubt suddenly more appreciative of the food in front of him.

“Shit, Spike. I didn’t know it was like that.”

Strife shrugged and kept eating.

“I bet it’s nice to be here then, right?”

Dark blue eyes glared across the table at Angeal, who felt his hackles rising at the ingratitude of it all.

“Look, I know you weren’t happy to be brought here initially, but that was a year and a half ago. Even you’ve got to admit by now that here is better than there. This is a good thing.”

Strife kept glaring. Zack shifted uncomfortably while Genesis leaned forward for more and Sephiroth examined it all with unbound curiosity.

“I think it’s time we worked through whatever grudge you have against me. You gave me a way to stop Sephiroth should things go awry. I gave you your life back. Fair trade.”

“Fair trade?”

“More than fair.”

“You have got to be _fucking_ with me. Is that what you tell yourself to get to sleep at night?”

“It’s what I tell myself because it’s true.”

Strife slammed his hands on the table and stood, his mouth curled in a snarl.

“You pompous fucking idiot! This wasn’t a fair trade! You came back to the moment before everything in your life went to shit. You got your friends. Your job. You stopped your degeneration. _I didn’t_. Do you know what I woke up to eighteen months ago? My mother screaming because she thought a gremlin had replaced her son and gotten the age wrong.

“The only one of my friends in this timeline who even knew I _existed_ when I came back was Tifa, and she was _twelve_. I came back to a place where not only did none of my friends know me, they weren’t my friends. They’ll never _be_ my friends. They’ll never have the experiences that made them who they were, and they’ll never become the people I knew. They’re _gone_.

“And maybe you let me be alive again. Know peace. Eat real food. But I didn’t _want_ it. All those years of being asked for protection, of saving the world and bearing the weight of every death on my shoulders—I just wanted it to end! Win or lose, at least it would be _over_.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think? You didn’t know? Well, _of course_ you didn’t! Every time things got rough, you ran away with your tail between your legs! You think I couldn’t feel you there, _watching_ me? I’d been dipped into the Lifestream twice! The only issue was that I thought it was _Zack!_ I thought… Planet be damned, I thought someone who cared about _me_ was watching over me, not a _friend of Sephiroth’s_.

“I wanted to die. I _wanted_ to go into the Lifestream. To see the Zack who knew what he had done for me. To hug my mother again. To apologize to my friends for failing them. To see Denzel.” Tears gathered in Strife’s eyes as he clenched his fists and grit his teeth. “Do you even know what happened to him?”

Angeal felt his stomach bottom out as the Lifestream flowing through Strife flared to life, making the air dense with power. He opened his mouth to speak, but Strife beat him to it.

“No. _Of course_ you Gaia-fucking don’t. You moseyed on out of there the second they got sick! So let me give you the run-through. Densel and Marlene were alone in the house when the aggression took him. It was the crying and screaming that tipped me off. I got there as fast as I could, but Hel. It was too late. Denzel had already killed her. He was sitting there in her blood, just crying, and when he saw me, do you know what he said?”

This time, Strife waited for a response. Angeal swallowed thickly and shook his head.

“I don’t.”

“ _I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to do it. Please make it stop. Make me stop. Papa, please.”_

And quite suddenly, Angeal knew where he had gone wrong. Strife wasn’t just a warrior or a SOLDIER. He was a father. Tears made uneven tracks down Strife’s face as he gave into the emotions that must have been wrecking him, and Angeal found he couldn’t look away.

“He called me Papa, Angeal. He cried, and he hugged me, and he called me his Papa, and I _snapped his neck_. And for every moment after that, all I could think about was seeing him again in the Lifestream. Win or lose. So yes, you’ve given me a chance to fix things. Yes, if this works, all of my friends will lead better lives. _Denzel_ will lead a better life. But he’ll do it without knowing I exist.

“And the people I knew; the Denzel I knew… They’re gone for good. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t consider this bullshit fair trade. Because the only thing – the _only_ thing I’ve wanted for years now is to _see my_ _son_ , and you took that away from me! I can’t blame Sephiroth or Zack for the things their other selves did. I can’t hold grudges against people who may never exist. But you? You I hate.”

Even though the tears kept flowing, Strife was clearly done. Dark blue eyes glanced at Sephiroth while his lips thinned into an angry line.

“Sorry, Sephiroth.”

Strife slammed the door when he left, and Angeal didn’t blame him.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Sephiroth knew, technically, that he should stay behind with Angeal and Genesis. They were his first and best friends. And perhaps if Zackary, who ran out immediately after Strife, had gone the right way, Sephiroth would have felt more inclined to stay.

But he could hear Zackary’s footsteps, hard and heavy, racing towards Strife’s apartment. And he could feel Strife’s presence, bright and alluring, heading towards Kalm. So Sephiroth ignored what he technically should do and left Angeal’s apartment to properly follow Strife.

Though the blonde was much, much faster than Sephiroth, the buzzing of his Strife-centered compass gave him a clear path. Strife did at least four quick maneuvers away from the Kalm forest, instead ending up barreling towards the ocean. Even if he couldn’t lose Sephiroth, he was making it clear he didn’t wish to be found.

Sephiroth, however, was rarely one to be persuaded away from his goals.

When Sephiroth finally caught up to Strife, the blonde had his legs dangling over the edge of the Plate, staring out at the distant seas. His tears had long-since dried on his face, leaving nearly invisible trails down pale cheeks. Sephiroth sat down beside of him and allowed the silence to comfortably settle around them.

As the hours passed, Strife’s tense posture relaxed into something more at ease and he ended up a centimeter or two closer to Sephiroth than before. Only after Strife lied down to stare at the stars, a single glance prompting Sephiroth to do the same, did either of them speak.

“They should not have pried into your past.”

Strife grunted in affirmation.

“I am sure you are aware that I grew up in a laboratory.”

Strife gave no verbal response, but his intense gaze flickered over to Sephiroth for the barest moment. That, for reasons Sephiroth would never be able to explain to his other friends, loosened the suffocatingly tight hold he had on the idea of sharing his past and allowed him to speak.

“Everything was white and clean, and I was unaware that most homes do not smell of chemicals. I was raised to be a weapon, and before meeting Angeal and Genesis, was unaware my upbringing could be considered unusual. They spoke of parents and playing games, and I only theoretically understood the majority of it. It was only after they declared me a friend that I realized Hojo is, as you say, a shitty father.”

Strife snorted at the description.

“Hojo did not like that I had friends. He believed the want for companionship to be for lesser beings. Gods need no friends. I… did not wish to be a god. The more I hear of what my other self does in his quest to be a god, the more thankful I feel for my humanity. I am thankful that I have friends. Tonight, none of us were good friends to you.”

Sephiroth hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to relay and even less sure of how to relay it. He finally settled on:

“I do not understand the intricacies of family relationships, but I am aware they exist. I am sorry your mother does not believe you to be a time traveler. I am also sorry your son will not become your son. That must be painful.”

Strife grunted again, softer this time.

“It is unfortunate that Angeal did not consider how traveling in time would affect you.” Sephiroth paused and then, encouraged by the lack of rebuttal, “I am glad you are here though.”

“You do realize I’m here to kill you, right?”

“I do.”

“Then why?”

“Regardless of the reason you were brought here, I enjoy your company.” Sephiroth paused again, attempting to figure out the best wording for his next admission. “Though I believe my Other self went about it incorrectly, I can understand his obsession with you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

“Sarcasm, Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth silently chided himself for not catching onto the sarcasm: a social nuance Genesis and Zackary had been attempting to teach him for years now.

The silence was able to comfortably re-settle around them before Strife finally added, “I used to worship you. Had one of your promotional posters hung in my room and everything. Joined the army just for the chance to see you, maybe one day fight by your side.”

Sephiroth didn’t answer immediately, somewhat flummoxed by the unexpected confession.

“What changed?”

“Your Other self killed my mother and burned my hometown to the ground.”

“Ah.” Another unsure pause. “That does sound like something he would do.”

Strife’s reaction was a low laugh that barely lasted a few seconds. It made Sephiroth’s lips twitch into what was almost a smile.

“I don’t want to kill you again.”

The admission was as soft as the wind, and Sephiroth turned his head to stare at Strife, who kept his eyes firmly on the sky.

Sephiroth arbitrarily knew that some people were attractive. Symmetrical facial features, healthy bodies, an exaggerated femininity or masculinity, and hygiene all helped contribute to this. It was a calculation followed by a notation, nothing more. Arbitrarily, Strife was attractive.

For the first time in Sephiroth’s life, he thought that someone being attractive could be a feeling, too.

So instead of looking back to the stars, as he had been doing, Sephiroth allowed himself to admire Strife. If the blonde was bothered, he didn’t say so, and if Strife didn’t admonish him, Sephiroth saw no reason to stop. They didn’t speak again, but when they finally made their way back to the SOLDIER compound, they did it together.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Genesis stared at his PHS hatefully. After Strife had torn Angeal a new one, both Sephiroth and Zack had excused themselves to find the blonde warrior. Genesis, who chose to stand by his oldest friend instead of run to the aid of ShinRa’s newest sweetheart, was promptly told to get out of Angeal’s apartment with the rest of them.

Now Angeal was texting him with apologies and requests for his return? Not even a call? Goddess, the _nerve_ of him sometimes.

Genesis flipped his PHS closed without answering, determined to make Angeal work harder than that.

Less than fifteen minutes later, a firm, familiar knock sounded against Genesis’ door. He stared at the door and then his nails for a total of ten seconds before losing his patience and letting Angeal in.

“ _Ripples form on the water’s surface_. What do you want?”

Angeal, instead of responding like a normal human with apologies and materia and tickets to _Loveless_ , threaded his fingers into Genesis’ hair and pressed their lips together.

Genesis’ thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Genesis had kissed plenty of people before, random and otherwise, but never Angeal. They were childhood friends, and while Angeal had starred in quite a few of Genesis’ late night fantasies as a teen, it was nothing he would act on. Nothing he had even considered acting on.

Yet here were Angeal’s lips molded solidly to his own.

Angeal pulled back, though his large, calloused hands continued to cup Genesis’ face as though he were something fragile and precious.

“I love you, Gen. I’ve always thought about doing this – about being with you – but I couldn’t gather up the courage before I died. I knew it was dishonorable to look at you the way I do and accept the way you trust me without correction. I just couldn’t give it up.”

“Ange, what…?”

Angeal kissed him again, quicker this time.

“If you’re going to push me away, do it now.”

“Angeal, slow down! By the Goddess, let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t, Gen. Not right now. I just had to tell you.”

“But I—” Genesis choked on his rejection as the knuckles on Angeal’s free hand brushed his cheek bone.

“I know. And that’s okay. I didn’t come here expecting you to return my feelings. And come tomorrow I’ll do my best to court you for real. Take you on dates and sign up for an art class with you. Read _Red Leather_ updates aloud. Whatever you’d like.” Angeal laughed, and as much as it was joyous and deep, it was sorrowful. “I love you, Gen. I just needed you to know that.”

Angeal’s hands against his face were gentle and sweet, and he was looking at Genesis the way heroes eyed damsels in epics. Seeing the plant-loving, honor-drenched, your-word-is-your-bond Angeal like that did terrible things to Genesis’ sense of judgment.

So if he reached over and dragged Angeal down for a bruising kiss, it was Angeal’s fault. And when Angeal responded to his acceptance as though it was a gift from the Goddess, Herself, how could he do anything other than melt into that enthusiastic embrace?

Angeal, despite rarely going on dates or taking people home, knew _exactly_ what to do with his tongue. Genesis was actually remiss when he pulled away, though gentle fingers still carded through his hair.

“May I stay here tonight?”

“Ange, I don’t think I can—”

“I won’t. Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want it. I just, I need to be near you. _Please_ , Gen.”

Genesis, who was known for being selfish and overbearing at the best of times, was helpless against Angeal’s pleading.

“Of course.”

Angeal’s grin was blindingly bright as he peppered Genesis’ lips with more kisses. Then the broader Lieutenant pulled away with no apparent intent to return.

Every time Genesis asked him what brought this up, Angeal would evade the question and instead make promises about tomorrow. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings yet. He wanted to listen to Genesis speak and only chimed in on occasion.

About materia.

About _Loveless_.

About old times.

About future endeavors.

About SOLDIER.

About their fan clubs.

Just not about his feelings, and not about Strife. Those were topics for “tomorrow.” Angeal’s insistence on not speaking about them yet made Genesis uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, but he trusted his best and oldest friend ( _suitor?_ ) even more than he trusted his instincts. So if Angeal didn’t want to talk about them, he didn’t have to.

They had plenty of other things to discuss and plenty of time to discuss them.

When Genesis finally fell asleep, it was to Angeal playing with his hair, whispering stories about a young Sephiroth falling on his face in an attempt to wield a far-too-long Masamune.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

When Angeal saw Strife next, the blonde had Sephiroth and Zack flanking either side. Genesis was beside of Angeal, too quiet to be considered anything but nervous. Angeal knew Genesis was still somewhat shaken over his confession, if not for the emotions than for the suddenness.

Or maybe it was because Angeal had called Strife to the SOLDIER training grounds while telling all other SOLDIERs it was closed for the day.

Before Strife could get close enough for Angeal to change his mind or anyone else to puzzle out his plan, Angeal struck. He drew his Buster Sword and launched himself at Strife, who wasted no time in blocking with First Tsurugi. If the others reacted, Angeal didn’t see them. To make it out of this fight alive, he couldn’t afford dividing his attention.

Strife slung Angeal back with one powerful push, but Angeal had been ready for it and changed his trajectory for another attack. Strife, still holding back, blocked again.

“When I died, it was without honor! I thought myself a monster, and the only way to save others was to be euthanized; to be put down like a beast. I made Zack kill me and I can’t – _I won’t_ – ever forgive myself for that!”

Strife made to toss him off again but Angeal parried with another blow.

“I followed Genesis and Sephiroth and you, and I hated everything. I wanted so badly to go back and change it all. To protect my friends from those horrors. That’s why I’m here, and it’s why you’re here. I want to save Zack, Genesis, and Sephiroth. I don’t care what happens to anyone else. Not me. Certainly not you. It isn’t nice or honorable, but it’s true.”

Angeal pulled back to launch a flurry of attacks, all of which Strife blocked without returning. He was determined not to fight, and Angeal hated himself even as he pulled out his final stop.

“You should understand, Strife! You don’t have any honor either. I know because I finally recognized Zack’s girlfriend: the flower girl.”

Angeal could _feel_ Strife’s grip on First Tsurugi tighten. He pushed forward.

“She’s the one the Other Sephiroth killed at the Forgotten Capital, right? The one who would have lived if _you_ hadn’t handed over the black materia? I remember seeing her get run through. I remember hearing her say your name – as though you could save her – and I remember you being too late. Tell me, Strife, Did you even care about her at all?”

Strife struck back.

He was faster and stronger than Angeal could have imagined, and Angeal was sure the only reason he was able to even barely block the attacks was because Strife was toying with him. Pushing him back and letting him taste _fear_.

Zack was the first to attempt to step in, his own buster blade never managing to interrupt their fight as Strife split his sword and knocked Zack clear out of the training grounds. With Strife’s sword split, any hope Angeal had of keeping up was lost.

The blows came faster, and Strife split and rejoined his blades with the ease of breathing, causing Angeal to constantly be over and under-compensating for the weight of the sword. Even without Strife using his full strength, he was just too fast.

Sephiroth and Genesis struck together. Masamune managed to get between Angeal and Strife, giving Angeal the briefest moment to breathe while Genesis summoned Ilfrit. The beast came down, all fire and strength, while Genesis brought his flaming rapier into the mix.

Then Strife simultaneously knocked the General and his Lieutenant away like they were _nothing_ and summoned Knights of the Round to surround Ilfrit. Angeal’s Buster Sword was knocked from his hands before he could properly comprehend all that had just taken place.

Strife held the majority of First Tsurugi in one hand and what had to be the smallest blade – only a little longer than Angeal’s forearm – in the other. With the smaller blade, he cut open Angeal’s shirt and placed the tip of his blade clean between Angeal’s pecs.

Only when Strife met his eyes did Angeal say, “I would do it again. For them, I would do anything.”

Then Strife slipped the blade into his body, no doubt opening him up in the back as well. For the first time in a long time, Angeal _hurt_. He almost felt like Strife must have cast a Thunder or Flare on the blade to increase the pain, but as Strife just stood there, watching him bleed, he knew that wasn’t the case.

When Strife did cast a materia, it was obvious. His blade – both parts – glowed, and Angeal felt the familiar sensation of his body knitting itself back together as the Curaga washed over him. With the blade still lodged in his chest, all he was doing was cutting himself open on repeat, and Angeal bit back a scream.

Through the buzz in his ears, he vaguely heard his friends’ voices. When Strife finally removed the blade, he was still casting Curaga, and the intense pain Angeal had felt was gone within minutes.

Zack and Genesis were instantly by his side while Sephiroth stood between them and Strife, Masamune raised. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Ilfrit must have been defeated because only the Knights of the Round remained. Strife canceled his summon without taking his eyes off of Angeal and refitted his blades into a single sword before placing them on his back.

“Now we’re even.”

Angeal didn’t understand what that meant until he looked in a mirror later that night and saw that Strife’s stab wound had been healed into a deep, ugly scar. He could never forget what he had done or the effects his actions caused. He could never outlive it or outrun it.

And now everyone else could see that, too.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Zack didn’t claim to understand why, but after Angeal and Cloud’s brawl, the two started to get along. Or at least not hate each other.  They would never be best friends, but they had seemingly genial conversations about plants and buster blades. Every once in a while, they would section themselves off and talk about something not meant for eavesdroppers, but those conversations rarely lasted long.

Almost weirder than their sudden okay-ness with each other was the romantic relationship that had sprouted overnight between Angeal and Genesis. Genesis had always been flamboyant enough for Zack to get the gay vibe, but he never once expected it of Angeal.

It didn’t change very much, and what it did change was hard to spot. They would kiss sometimes. Their feet would touch beneath the table when they ate together. Genesis would still whine about Angeal being a bad friend ( _boyfriend_ ) any time Angeal didn’t immediately cave to what he wanted. Angeal would still ignore him.

They were happier though. That much was obvious. And Zack was happy for them. How could he not be? He just also maybe didn’t quite _exactly_ know how to feel about Angeal knowing what happened to Aerith and using that against Cloud. Angeal was kind and honorable and definitely one of the greatest guys Zack had ever met.

Zack just maybe couldn’t exactly think that while looking Angeal in the eyes.

Surprisingly, it was Cloud who broke Zack of these thoughts by pointing out that what upset Zack wasn’t the underhanded way Angeal had hurt Cloud or the withholding of information about Aerith. It was his hero-worship being tainted by the reality of Angeal’s humanity.

The more he thought about it, the more Zack found that to be true. Angeal had always been the ideal Zack worked towards. He was strong and smart and kind and the perfect form of a hero. And now he was human, too: angry and selfish and capable of harming others to absolve himself.

Looking at Angeal without rose-colored glasses was hard at first, but the more Zack did it, the more comfortable it felt. For the first time, Zack and Angeal stood on equal grounds, and it was… nice.

Zack didn’t tell Aerith about what would happen to her – he didn’t tell her about any of the time travel stuff – but she supported his new view of Angeal even without knowing all the details. She was perfect and sweet and loving, and it made Zack cringe harder when he imagined her death.

_Scared and alone and run through with Masamune while calling out to Cloud for help._

And Cloud was more sensitive than anyone gave him credit for. Zack could imagine him rushing to some rundown temple, praying for Aerith’s safety, screaming for Sephiroth to leave her alone, only to arrive a moment too late. To blame himself because he had, in fact, given away the black materia.

Every bit of it made Zack uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had been too headstrong to keep Cloud safe long enough for both of them to survive.

Cloud had once said that Zack and Aerith were engaged in the Other life. She had never really gotten over him – had spent nearly a decade not knowing where he disappeared to – and only went on dates with Cloud when Cloud had thought himself to be Zack.

Maybe if Zack had been stronger and smarter, he would have been there with Aerith and could have stalled Sephiroth long enough for Cloud to arrive. It was a life he hadn’t lived full of mistakes he never made, but the possibility of it all bothered Zack more than he could express.

So when he saw things going wrong in this life, he was incapable of just sitting back and letting them happen.

“Just blow him off.”

“It is important that I retain optimal health.”

“You’re the healthiest guy I know! These stupid check-ups aren’t for your sake. They’re an excuse to hurt you and see how fast you heal.”

Zack crossed his arms and refused to move from Sephiroth’s door. Seph’s fingers twitched slightly, but Zack held his ground. He was 98% positive that Seph would never actually draw Masamune on him.

“ _Zackary.”_

97%.

“No, Seph. I get that you feel some sort of weird, unhealthy father-son connection with Hojo, but even you know he’s a creep. He’s the one who makes you go all Jenova, and that means he’s the guy you definitely need to avoid.”

Sephiroth moved forward into Zack’s personal space ( _96%_ ) and put his hands on Zack’s biceps. The next thing Zack knew, he was being physically lifted into the air and out of the way. Sephiroth opened the door quicker than Zack could stop him but made no move to leave.

Zack skittered around Sephiroth, ready to block the way again, when he heard, “He’s right. You should stay away from Hojo.”

Seph stepped back as Cloud stepped in, softly closing the door behind him. All of the excuses Sephiroth had listed off to Zack seemed to have died on the General’s lips, as they always did where Cloud was concerned. Zack allowed himself a soft sigh of relief.

The only people who believed Seph wasn’t in love with Cloud were Seph and Cloud. Everyone else knew that if they wanted to get Sephiroth to do something, they needed to get Cloud in on it, too. The weak spot Seph had for Cloud was phenomenally large.

So when Cloud motioned for Sephiroth to sit beside of him on the couch, it was no big surprise that Sephiroth sat. They didn’t say anything, but they seemed comfortable enough with the silence that Zack didn’t want to ruin it.

And for a full ten minutes, he didn’t.

“Aerith’s birthday’s coming up, you know. I thought about getting her flowers since that’s what she loves, but she’s the one I would buy the flowers from, so I guess that wouldn’t really work. There’s a festival going on around that time that I could take her to, but that’s more like a date than a gift. Well, I mean, it’s sort of a gift since she’s never been above the Plate and wants to see the stars, but there’s nothing for her to physically hold onto. I guess I could win her something at the fair? Or is that too cliché?”

“She only has plants from the Midgar area. Bring her seeds from wherever you go on your next mission.”

Zack paused his ramblings to grin. He hadn’t actually expected either of them to answer.

“Yes! That’s an awesome idea, Spike! Seph, you’ve got to pull some strings to send me somewhere cool. Let me ask Ange where he thinks the coolest plants are, and then we can regroup and you can find a mission around there to deploy me to. Or just make one up. That would be even better. Do you think there are cool plants in Costa del Sol?”

“Just order the seeds.”

Zack hummed, doing very little to hide his excitement over Sephiroth participating in a social chat about hypothetical birthdays and plants.

“I dunno. It’d be way cooler to say ‘I went to Wutai to get you these’ than ‘I ordered these from _Midgar_ _Unlimited_ ,’ you know?”

“I do not.”

“Ugh. At least you get me, Cloudy.”

Cloud shrugged.

“I owned a delivery service. People cared way less how they got things than that they got them on time.”

“Timing does seem the more practical concern.”

Zack mustered up his most dramatic sigh as he placed his ass firmly on Sephiroth’s desk _(one of the many places Sephiroth had told him not to put it)._

“You guys just don’t get it. As certified heroes, anything you get for someone is impressive just ‘cause you’re the ones who got it. I’ve gotta work for that kind of reaction.”

Sephiroth grunted in what was either agreement or dismissal while Cloud grimaced.

“Strife does not enjoy being called a hero. In his case, I believe the terminology employs more pressure for success than glory or valor.”

Cloud and Sephiroth shared a look that said more than Zack could properly interpret. Zack wondered not for the first time how Cloud and Sephiroth could so easily understand each other without saying a thing.

A few seconds later they both turned to the door, and Hojo let himself in. Zack had heard people milling about in the hallways and someone approaching, of course, but he guessed that Seph and Cloud knew the sound of Hojo’s footsteps better than most.

“Sephiroth, come.”

“He can’t. He’s busy right now.”

Cloud stared at Hojo with something akin to petulance while Hojo adjusted his glasses.

“Ah. You must be the Strife I’ve been hearing about. The boy who fell into mako and lived.” Hojo gave Cloud a careless once-over. “Unusual but not impressive. It’s a wonder Sephiroth ever believed himself to have _feelings_ for a thing like you.”

Hojo spat the word ‘feelings,’ and Cloud tilted his head ( _an action that looked more predatory than cute_ ) before getting a look in his eyes that spelled nothing but trouble. Cloud leaned back against Seph, almost languidly hooking their arms together. Sephiroth stared at Cloud with an obsessive curiosity.

“Believed? The feelings are real, and we have them for each other.”

Hojo sneered.

“Don’t be obtuse. Sephiroth is a _god_ —”

“In bed, maybe. Otherwise, he’s just as human as the rest of us. But I guess it’s hard to make objective judgments through all that fatherly pride. Tell me, is his mom the same way?”

Zack covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing at Hojo’s disgusted expression.

“Sephiroth does not have a mother. He was—”

“I guess the relationship didn’t end on good terms. That’s too bad. Not that I don’t understand; Jenova was a bitch.”

Cloud’s stoicism didn’t falter while Hojo went from red to white in seconds.

“And I can’t imagine Lucretia is too fond of you after that whole murder thing. _Women,_ am I right?”

Hojo didn’t respond.

“It’s fine though, I’m sure. She’d dead, and Jenova is… well, how long has it been since you’ve checked in on her?”

“Jenova is—”

“So a while then, huh? That’s too bad. Spending that much time alone, locked away in the Nibel Mountains can do a lot of damage to a person. Or 3000 year old rock.”

“You—”

“You should check in on her, doc. Last time I was in Nibelheim, there was a lot of _Chaos_ running rampant. I’m not sure how safe an environment it is for someone without a proper vessel.” Cloud shrugged casually, his intense stare and blank expression doing nothing to reflect the concern of his words. “For all you know, she could be trapped under 322.613 tons on Mako, screaming in a voice no one but Sephiroth can hear. Wouldn’t that be rough?”

Hojo opened and closed his mouth a few times, too overwhelmed by shock and anger to respond. Zack watched with wide eyes, and when Hojo finally got a hold of himself, he was more furious than Zack had ever seen him.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but rest assured, I will find out, and you will wish we never met—”

“I already wish that.”

Hojo snarled, giving Zack the impression that getting interrupted was a pet peeve of his. Zack equally thought Cloud was aware of this pet peeve.

“Sephiroth. _Come_.”

“That’s my line now, actually.”

If Zack were drinking water, he would have choked on it.

“Thing is, Sephiroth isn’t going anywhere with you. Not now, not ever. Whenever you call to him, he’ll ignore you, and if you find a way to take him, I’ll take him back. And _whatever_ happened to Jenova will happen to you and Deepground and everything else you’ve had your greedy, greasy hands on.”

Hojo, the lone scientist in a group of hostile SOLDIERs, knew when to keep his mouth shut. While Zack doubted this was the last he would see of the creep, it was certainly the victory of the day.

When Hojo stormed out, Cloud’s eyes stayed focused on the door. Sephiroth’s gaze, however, never strayed from Cloud.

“That was awesome, Spike! He’ll think twice about coming after Seph now!”

Cloud shrugged, finally disentangling himself from the General.

“Save Sephiroth, Save the World, right?”

 **(***** **Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Hojo didn’t approach Sephiroth after his encounter with Strife. He took an emergency flight to Nibelheim and failed to return. When Sephiroth questioned Strife about it, the blonde shrugged disinterestedly.

“Maybe he met up with an old colleague.”

For Strife, who liked to speak even less than Sephiroth himself, it was as good as a confession.

Without Hojo in the labs, Sephiroth’s checkups could actually be considered routine. He was never hurt and nothing was ever overly invasive. In short, it was wonderful.

Even better than the lack of Hojo and painful experiments, Strife was willing to fight with him. That large, complicated fusion sword slicing the air in front of Sephiroth’s face was the adrenaline rush Sephiroth hadn’t known he’d been missing.

The sword itself was a work of art. Sephiroth had seen Strife take it apart for cleaning: six beautiful puzzle pieces that fit into one glorious sword. Strife hadn’t split his blades in battle since their first fight, but Sephiroth knew that when he did, it would be breathtaking.

It took a month of constant defeat for Sephiroth to ask Strife for personal training. That was when Sephiroth found out that Strife did train, just incredibly early in the morning. His training regimen was strict and fast-paced enough to leave Sephiroth drenched in sweat. His muscles burned like they had when he was a child, and Sephiroth always ached when he woke.

He was getting faster though. Stronger. He could almost keep up with Strife.

Genesis was jealous, of course, as Strife would fight with no one but Sephiroth. He was, however, willing to help train the others. They didn’t join in the mornings ( _They had each tried at least once and been unable to keep up_ ), but Strife was willing to coach them in training rooms. He wielded a buster blade even better than Angeal, which both Angeal and Zackary found fascinating.

Genesis and Strife helped each other with materia work: Strife’s uses were effortlessly large while Genesis could light a single candle from across the room. Strife also went to see plays with Genesis, played video games with Zackary, and helped Angeal garden. Sometimes Zackary would plead for Strife to go meet his girlfriend, but Strife always refused.

All in all, it was a good life.

It became a much better life when Sephiroth figured out that Strife was absolutely dreadful at hand-to-hand combat. While Strife was faster than Sephiroth, he would never be able to best the General in a test of strength. Add that to the fact that Sephiroth was trained in most martial arts, and Strife didn’t stand a chance.

Zackary had been the one to initially defeat Strife in hand-to-hand combat, but once he did, Sephiroth had to try. Surprisingly enough, it was _easy_. While Strife was a god with a sword, he was as clumsy as a newly-made SOLDIER without one.

Sephiroth always gave pointers at the end and helped to adjust Strife’s stance or reaction, but it was mostly just pinning Strife to the ground within minutes. And that was drawing it out.

Sephiroth had noted aloud that if his Other self had managed to challenge Strife to a swordless battle, it would have been over much quicker. Strife had proceeded to hit him hard enough to bruise, which surprised Sephiroth enough that he genuinely laughed.

Strife had cursed him for a while after that, but the only thing Sephiroth had taken from it was that Strife’s soft Nibel accent got stronger when angry.

Coincidentally, that was around the time Strife deemed Sephiroth enough of a threat to start splitting his swords. That was also the time that the line between “Strife” and “Cloud” began to blur.

He was still Strife, who came specifically to kill Sephiroth, but he was also Cloud, who encouraged Sephiroth to do things he _wanted_ instead of things he was ordered to want. He was Strife, who pushed Sephiroth ruthlessly in training and held back no criticism, and he was Cloud, who brought Sephiroth tea when he had too many meetings and piles of paperwork to fight.

He was Strife, who watched Sephiroth sweat and trip and fall, and he was Cloud, who offered him a hand back up and whispered words of encouragement. He was Strife, who rarely spoke of the future or what it entailed, and he was Cloud, who repeatedly told Sephiroth that he and his Other self were different people.

He was Cloud Strife, who carved out time specifically for Sephiroth despite all the other people vying for his attention.

Sephiroth knew he was weak to his friends – that he would move mountains to help, should they need it – but he was even weaker to Cloud Strife.

If Cloud spoke, he listened. If Cloud wanted something, Sephiroth thought of ways to get it. Praise from Cloud may as well have been praise from the gods themselves for how it made Sephiroth feel, and his criticism was much the same.

For unknown reasons, Sephiroth had to work up the courage to call Strife “Cloud” for the first time. He thought about it and wanted it, but the timing was never right. Calling him Cloud somehow felt intimate, and if Cloud were to reject that move towards a closer friendship, it would be the worst criticism yet.

That was why, when Sephiroth accidentally called Strife by his first name, both of them froze.

Cloud stared at him, dark blue eyes searching, while Sephiroth awaited judgment. For the first time in a long time, he felt nervous. And when Strife finally nodded and said “Alright,” an inexplicable warmth spread through Sephiroth’s chest, leaving him feeling almost high for the rest of the day.

When the others heard him proudly using Cloud’s first name, they whispered ( _as though he couldn’t still hear them_ ) about his feelings. Sephiroth pointedly ignored them. When his men started whispering in much the same manner, though with negative notions about Cloud’s virtue, Sephiroth’s reaction was much harsher.

He commanded Cloud to train them for a day.

At the end of that day, which ended up being noon, as no SOLDIERS other than Zackary could keep up for longer ( _though even Zackary only lasted because he had tried various time_ _s_ _before_ ), no one questioned Cloud’s ability to be a SOLDIER anymore. The rumors about Cloud’s mysterious relationship with the General suddenly ceased, and Sephiroth’s temper was soothed.

If Cloud cared or even noticed that the rumors had stopped, he didn’t mention it.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

In materia work, Genesis was a well-known artist. In smaller circles, he was known for painting, sketching, and sculpting. If anyone asked, Genesis would humbly say that he had an eye for art and the ability to appreciate good art, no matter what it was. That being said, Genesis hated things that were dirty, muddy, greasy, and/or loud.

So when Genesis saw Strife covered in oil, sweat, and grease beneath what had to be the most gorgeous motorcycle ever created, he was torn. The beast of a vehicle, with its side compartments splayed out like wings and Strife’s fusion blades protruding like feathers, made one hell of a picture.

Genesis wanted to shake the artists’ hand and see how Strife planned on fighting while riding the thing. He also wanted Strife to take two showers and to never hear how loud the engine surely got.

Angeal grinned at Genesis and twined their fingers together, no doubt aware of the conflict raging inside Genesis’ head.

Ever since Angeal had stupidly, selfishly attempted to sacrifice himself to Strife to atone for his sins, Genesis realized just how easy Angeal would be to lose. If Strife wanted to kill every single one of them, he wouldn’t have any issues.

Genesis had only ever heard speculations of the Knights of the Round, and there Strife was, summoning them without breaking a sweat. He took on Genesis, Angeal, Zack, and Sephiroth without ever missing a step, and that was horrifying.

When Zack asked about it, Strife explained that he was used to the Other Sephiroth, who had been brought back to life and supercharged by Jenova twice over. To him, they may as well have been moving under water. Even Sephiroth, though to a far lesser extent, was slow in Strife’s eyes.

When they moved like molasses, they were easy to counter.

The explanation didn’t make Genesis feel better. He attempted to counter it every now and again, when the fear became overwhelming, by joining Strife and Sephiroth for training. That only managed to make him feel worse since the training was Goddess damned impossible to get through. He worked on his materia more often, not that it mattered since Strife had the most powerful summon known to Planet and who knew what else, but he did it anyhow.

Looking at Strife now with his hair even more of a mess than usual, smudges on his face, a stained white tank top, and dirty, oily hands, it was hard to muster that same fear. The blonde looked like a regular mechanic Genesis would find down in the slums. If not for the mako glow in his eyes, he’d be even _less_ threatening than a regular mechanic. His short stature and fair features made him better suited to be a model than a SOLDIER.

It forced Genesis to continually remind himself that the blonde was a warrior who could wield six swords at once and kill without blinking.

The way Sephiroth looked at Strife, as close to starry-eyed as the General could ever be, certainly didn’t help. Sephiroth was chatting ( _if it could even be called that)_ with Strife about the motorcycle. Genesis, who had known Sephiroth on a personal level since they were preteens, knew that Sephiroth had no interest in motorized vehicles. That made his sudden wealth of knowledge on the subject almost as laughable as the pleasantly surprised expression on Strife.

Zack, who had exposed Strife’s side project, was mooning over the bike, not even pretending to understand Strife and Sephiroth’s conversation. Angeal leaned in and put his lips to Genesis’ ear to whisper, “They’re cute, aren’t they?”

Genesis fought back a frown. He found it ridiculously hard to stay on guard when everyone around him was settling so happily into this new system. It was as though they were all blinded to the fact that Strife was dangerous.

As interesting and talented and fucking disarmingly blasé as Strife could be, they couldn’t just _forget_ that he had the power to kill them all. Yet that’s what it felt like they were doing. Forgetting. Overlooking. Ignoring.

Strife hadn’t harmed them without provocation yet, but he had spent half his Other life doing nothing more than tracking Sephiroth in the name of murdering the ex-General. By the Goddess, there was an entire _year_ in this timeline where Strife was content to do nothing but watch Sephiroth for the perfect moment. To strike. Not to strike.

To strike. Not to strike.

Strife confirmed that he would like to keep Sephiroth alive, but the look in his eyes hadn’t changed from the day Strife first turned up in Angeal’s apartment. Regardless of intent, Strife was prepared to do whatever he deemed necessary.

The only person Genesis was positive Strife wouldn’t kill was Zack, and that was a far cry from reassuring. If not for the way Angeal’s smile brightened when Strife spoke to him about flowers or over-sized swords, Genesis would have put his foot down about how reckless they were being.

But he knew Angeal almost better than he knew himself, and he knew the guilt over what Angeal did to Strife had been eating away at him ever since the dinner party. Every time Strife spoke to him or helped him, Angeal’s guilt lightened a little. So until Strife showed signs of leaning towards Sephiroth’s execution, Genesis would keep his mouth shut and his eyes open.

He hoped that this little scene was a true prediction of the future: with Angeal and he twined together, laughing about Zack’s childish show of awe while Sephiroth clumsily attempted to flirt with Strife.

He didn’t believe it, but he hoped.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Zack was amazingly happy that Cloud’s bike looked so great. It wasn’t just that the bike was cool or that he was proud of Cloud’s workmanship ( _though both of those things were true_ ). Cloud’s bike was more than that: It was an opportunity.

Cloud had been shirking meeting Aerith since before admitting to being Zack’s friend. He never made up excuses, but he never agreed to go, either. One of his favorite ways to turn Zack down was, “There’s no reason for me to be there.”

Before seeing Fenrir, Zack couldn’t refute that. Now, however, he had the perfect excuse.

“...and you see, she’s been wanting this flower cart since forever. I mean like, since we first started dating. Not only will she get the chance to show off her flowers, but the sales will help her take care of her ma. She really loves her ma, you know? Even more than she loves those flowers. Thing is, I’ve already tried making her a cart and I’m great at a crazy amount of things, but none of them have to do with building flower carts.”

Zack shrugged helplessly and flashed his brightest grin, well aware of how weak Cloud was to his smiles.

It wasn’t that Zack didn’t understand where Cloud was coming from. The thought of Aerith not being able to forgive him was terrifying. And knowing Cloud’s propensity for brooding, he probably didn’t want to be forgiven. Or didn’t think he deserved it or whatever other bullshit Cloud had in his head.

Seeing Aerith would fix that, Zack was sure. She had the biggest heart of anyone he had ever known.

By the way Cloud’s lips thinned, he didn’t like the position Zack had put him in. He must have known how much Aerith wanted that flower cart already. He must have heard her go on about it in the Other life.

Zack had counted on something of the like.

Cloud agreed, however reluctantly, to accompany Zack down to Sector 5, and Zack ignored the extra tenseness in Cloud’s shoulders because everything would be better once they got to Aerith’s.

Cloud only got tenser and slower, but for every morose thought Cloud no doubt had, Zack upped his cheeriness another notch. By the time he opened the doors of the church, he was practically beaming.

Then he saw Aerith and really was beaming.

Despite Cloud being his reason for coming to Sector 5, Zack kind of forgot about everything other than the beautiful woman in his arms for a few seconds as he swung her in circles and planted a dozen kisses on her perfect face.

“Zack, stop!”

Her demand was too stuffed with giggles for him to listen properly, and he hugged her once more before letting go to instead thread their fingers together.

Her smile was bright and alluring, and when Zack finally tore his eyes away, he saw that Cloud was just as entranced as he had been. Maybe more so.

Aerith let go of Zack’s hand to approach Cloud, who had stopped at the church doors. She walked towards him slowly and sweetly, as though approaching an injured animal.

“Hi there.”

It took Cloud a moment, and his voice sounded hoarse, but eventually he said, “Hey.”

“You look like you need a hug. Do you mind if I…?”

Cloud, if possible, looked even less comfortable than before.

“I, uh...” Cloud didn’t get any farther than that before Aerith went in for the kill and wrapped her arms around his torso. Aerith cried out almost immediately, her legs giving out beneath her and leaving Cloud to catch her as she fell. Zack took a few steps forward, suddenly worried that this was a terrible mistake.

Aerith’s shoulders shook with sudden tears while Cloud’s grip visibly tightened. Through Aerith’s quiet sobs Zack heard, “Oh Cloud. What has the Planet _done_ to you?”

Zack didn’t understand it, and Cloud didn’t respond.

Aerith pulled away first, what must have been hours later, and led Cloud by the hand to the pond at the front of the church. She sat down at the edge, her flowers behind her, and motioned for them to sit, too.

Then she told Zack ( _and sort of Cloud, but Zack was pretty sure Cloud already knew)_ that she was a Cetra. Her biological mother was an Ancient, and that gave Aerith a connection with the Planet. It was why she could grow plants under the Plate and why she understood people so well.

She could feel the Lifestream within them. She could feel the mako within him. And she could feel the Planet within Cloud. She could automatically tell that something was wrong with him. She said Cloud felt a little like Angeal: like his soul and his body didn’t quite match.

It was at that point where Zack felt the need to come clean about _Save Seph, Save the World_. So he told her about the time travel and tragedies and Other Sephiroth. He left out the part where she died, not wanting to drop that bomb until she asked for it, and ghosted over the parts where he died because she would never need those details.

She nodded along like it was normal, never once questioning his story or its plausibility. When Zack finished, Cloud picked up. He spoke about the moment his and Angeal’s souls disconnected and how Angeal went straight to his body but Cloud remained in the Planet’s hold.

Planet sifted through Cloud’s soul with such a harsh intensity that Cloud wasn’t really sure who or why he was. He had no idea how long he had survived in that hell, feeling Planet consuming, absorbing, and rearranging him, as time didn’t exist within the Lifestream. It could have been an eternity.

When he was released onto the Planet, he was in Nibelheim, disoriented and alone. Planet was in his head, a constant whisper and sometimes yell. He couldn’t tell Planet’s thoughts from his own. Cloud spent the next year re-orienting himself, alone, trying to decide whether he should listen to past experiences and the Planet ( _the kill Sephiroth squad)_ or hope for something better.

As Zack listened to Cloud speak, he hurt. He hurt for his best friend, and he hurt for the possible future. More than that, however, he found himself admiring Cloud. Unlike the other men Zack had idolized, Cloud was selfless. Cloud lost everything, and he was betrayed, and he still had the heart to give his worst enemies a chance at redemption.

Cloud sacrificed and suffered and persevered against all obstacles. He worked tirelessly for others, cared for people who wronged him, and did his best to protect _everyone_. He was the hero Zack always wanted to be.

And Zack loved him.

In that moment, Zack decided the future-past would never happen again. He wouldn’t just be a hero, but the hero’s hero. He would save Cloud Strife, and Odin help anyone who got in his way.

After that meeting, Zack made sure to step up. Any time he wasn’t on a mission or with Aerith, he tried to be with Cloud. He joined Seph and Cloud in the mornings, though he never made it to the end, and watched their fights whenever he could.

Cloud didn’t share a ton of interests with Zack, which probably had something to do with how thoroughly their life experiences deviated from one another, but he was always happy to order a pizza and play video games. Cloud constantly thrashed Zack at chocobo racing games, but he was a total button-masher in fighting games.

The blonde swore up and down that he used to be better at it. Zack was always excited to hear about things Cloud and Other Zack did ( _like ordering pizza and playing video games_ ) but the times Cloud felt content to share were few and far between.

Zack attempted to get Cloud to teach him more about materia, but it turned out that Cloud was a natural. He didn’t so much know how he was doing it, just that he was.

“I do it on instinct.” He said. “I feel the materia as a part of myself, and it acts accordingly.”

It was bullshit advice, if anyone asked Zack. So he ended up going to Genesis instead. The red head was more than happy to take Zack on as a student, if only for the bragging rights of also being Zack’s mentor.

While Zack had never struggled with materia, it took Genesis’ guiding hand for him to stop feeling tired after half a dozen Firagas. His ability to actually aim them took an entirely different set of lessons, most of which involved Genesis saying, “Materia are an extension of yourself, just like swords. So stop fooling around and _extend yourself_.”

It helped little to nothing, but Zack didn’t sweat it. He figured one day it would just click, and until then, practice makes better.

One of Zack’s favorite ways to train ( _though his schedule rarely allowed for it_ ) didn’t involve him doing anything at all. He would just kick back and watch Seph and Spike duke it out.

Zack had always known that Sephiroth was a prodigy, but the bounds he’d made toward closing his and Cloud’s gap in strength was nothing less than insane.

When they fought, it was mostly in the air. They were so fast that Zack had to work not to lose track of them. They danced around each other with a sort of practiced ease, like they’d been fighting all their lives. Like they’d been born for it.

During these fights, Sephiroth’s look of awe-bordering-obsession would find its match in Cloud. They saw nothing else; heard nothing else. After meeting Aerith, Zack believed in love at first sight. After watching them fight, he believed in soulmates, too.

Violent, terrifyingly destructive soulmates.

The fights varied tremendously every time. Materia, swords, terrain: all of them were up in the air. The only things Zack could count on being true were that if they fought hand to hand, Sephiroth would win. If they fought with swords, Cloud would win.

Which was why when Cloud skidded across the ground with Masamune at his throat, Zack didn’t know what to do. His heart sped up while his muscles tightened to a painful extent, and he watched.

Sephiroth hesitated, unsure that this victory was really happening. Then Cloud, as though purposefully to make the scene even less believable, started to laugh. He laughed long and loud with a boisterousness Zack hadn’t known he was capable of, leaving both Sephiroth and Zack awestruck.

When the laughter finally stopped, the grin remained.

“I don’t remember the last time I thought I could be killed. It’s—”

“Exhilarating.”

Sephiroth breathed the word, and for the first time outside of their fights, Zack could feel the energy between them. He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Hey guys, this—”

“Is probably a fluke.”

“Probably.”

Their conversation sounded more personal than it had any right to be, and Zack cleared his throat uncomfortably before taking another approach.

“Maybe we should—”

“Try again?”

“Just in case.”

They were back in the air before Zack could form another protest.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Angeal didn’t love cooking. He much preferred gardening, training, and meeting new people. That being said, he never minded cooking for his friends. The group dinners were a chance to share each others’ shortfalls and triumphs. They could connect as a group of friends rather than lovers or mentors or military officials. It was refreshing.

Genesis had stayed the night with Angeal, as he often did when neither of them had missions. Despite Genesis’ insistence that cooking was menial and the only food worth making by hand was his prized Banora White Apple Juice, he was willing to arrange the food to be “more palatable.”

Zack came over early to help prep the food or, more realistically, raid Angeal’s snack cupboard. Genesis was in the process of pouring snark into Angeal’s ear over Zack’s messiness ( _loud enough for Zack to hear, of course_ ) when Strife and Sephiroth came through the door.

Usually, this would be no larger a disruption than a quick, “Hey” or “Finally.” This time, however, Strife was _slathered_ with mud. Genesis was immediately up in arms.

“Stop! Not one step closer.”

They both stopped at the door, Strife looking like a pissed off cat while Sephiroth stood tall and, if Angeal wasn’t mistaken, amused.

“What in Goddess’ name happened?”

The simultaneous answers of “Strife does not take well to loss” and “Sephiroth is an ass” filled the air. Strife glared at Sephiroth, who stared back unperturbed.

“ _You_ flung me into the mud pit.”

“I deflected your attack.”

“Into the mud pit.”

“Would you rather I let you hit me?”

Strife scoffed.

“Don’t pretend you couldn’t have tossed me elsewhere.”

Sephiroth’s lips quirked in a self-satisfied smile. Strife, in return, dragged his hand through his muck-soaked hair and flicked the goop at Sephiroth. As though the splashes of mud in his hair and up his cheeks weren’t enough, he then drug his hands down Sephiroth’s chest, ruining his otherwise pristine white shirt.

They never broke eye contact.

Angeal coughed to interrupt the energy building between them.

“Right. Well, Sephiroth, how about you go take a shower in the master bathroom. Zack, get Strife a towel to wipe his feet with. Strife, how about you strip off that mud and use the bath in the guest bedroom? I’ll put your clothes in the wash, and you can borrow some of Genesis’—”

“What?”

“You’re the closest in size. It makes the most sense.”

Genesis crossed his arms but didn’t protest again, and Angeal nodded a confirmation of his orders to the others. Zack grinned and went to get the towel while Sephiroth walked towards Angeal’s bedroom, uncaring of Strife’s glare at his back.

Only after Sephiroth had disappeared into Angeal’s room did Strife start to strip. Genesis leaned in close, his breath hot on the shell of Angeal’s ear.

“You know I love you,” the redhead whispered, “but if that man ever wants to have an affair, I’m in.”

Angeal grunted in agreement, unwilling to take his eyes off of Strife in nothing but boxer-briefs and mud. When Zack came back with the towel, he laughed at just how much mud had soaked through clothing to stain Strife’s pale skin.

“Hand-to-hand again, huh?”

Strife glared.

“You know, we always figured you were a genius like Seph. Thought you’d pick up on this stuff way faster.”

Strife elbowed Zack in the side, knocking the breath out of him.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not. I just perform well under pressure is all.”

He pressed the newly dirtied towel back into Zack’s arms and stalked off, completely ignoring Zack’s heckling “Oh, I bet you do, Spike.”

Genesis followed to lend Strife clothing while Angeal gathered up the discarded wardrobe (more mud than cloth, really) to wash. The table was set by the time Sephiroth finished.

Sephiroth ignored Zack, who was already picking at the food, and Genesis, who was berating Zack, to continue brushing his hair in the middle of the room. Angeal listened to the shower turn off and then a crash. He opened his mouth to shout to Strife, but that was as far as he got before a sweet blankness washed over his system.

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

Angeal turned to the Threat, staring at the way wet silver strands stuck to a strong, pale chest without really seeing any of it. The Threat was without its blade.

Angeal reached for his sword, thankful that his companions were doing the same. Even weaponless, only the Traveling WEAPON could defeat the Threat alone. They could stall though. They could weaken it.

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

“Angeal? Genesis?” The Threat turned, assessing them. “Zackary, what are you doing?”

An un-namable force pulsed inside of Angeal, and it felt like home. It was the Banora apple grove and a hug from his mom. It was a night between the sheets with Genesis and training with Zack. It was a debate with Sephiroth and his acceptance into SOLDIER. More than that, it was the Lifestream, thrumming and fulfilling and assuring Angeal of what he was meant to do.

He drew his sword and readied for battle. The Threat tilted its head slightly before shouting, _“Cloud!”_ and Angeal felt more than knew that the Threat was attempting to regain control of the Traveling WEAPON. Angeal felt his body move a nanosecond before he made the decision to strike: a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

The Threat fled from their reach, dodging far quicker than Angeal could make himself move. The Threat made no move to return blows, but Angeal knew how sly the Threat could be. It had disappeared before and seduced the Traveling WEAPON into compliance. It had escaped the Lifestream. It had cloned itself and brought forth rocks from the sky. It craved destruction.

Angeal nicked Zack’s cheek as the Threat dodged again, but neither of them noticed. The Threat closed a door between them which Genesis quickly broke down. The Threat seemed to have abandoned the need for escape and instead stood tall between them and the bathroom.

The Traveling WEAPON curled on the tile floor, nude, with its hands tangled harshly in its hair. It had no blade but was a weapon in and of itself. Angeal could feel it resisting, though he failed to understand why.

“Cloud, you must rise.”

The Traveling WEAPON breathed harder but otherwise remained unresponsive. The Threat’s influence must have weakened since the Other Time. Angeal rushed forward only to be tossed aside by the handle of his sword. Genesis’ flame-ridden rapier fared no better, and Zack collapsed from a swift blow to the gut.

He was up just as quickly, any pain he felt no doubt drown out by the need to protect the Planet.

None of the Threat’s responses to their attacks were harmful, and Angeal used that lack of violence to propel his attacks further. It seemed to be protecting the Traveling WEAPON. Perhaps it was buying itself time to draw the Traveling WEAPON back to its side. Angeal felt a decisive pull inside of himself.

Better to have no WEAPON than a WEAPON controlled by the Threat.

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

The command pulsed in time with Angeal’s heart, the wind singing around his blade as he swung. The Threat must have seen his intent to hit a target - whether the Threat or the Traveling WEAPON - because it didn’t move this time.

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

_ELIMINATE THE THREAT._

**Stop.**

Angeal’s blade froze at the Threat’s throat. Zack and Genesis were in similar positions, though at different points on the Threat’s body. The soothing calm Angeal had been basking in broke like waves on a cliff.

Angeal dropped his sword, horrified.

“Oh, Shiva. I didn’t— I’m not— Sephiroth, we...”

But Angeal couldn’t explain it. Zack’s sword clattered along with Angeal’s. Violet eyes stared at traitorous hands like he had never seen them before while Genesis frantically emptied his bracers of materia before throwing even the empty bracers against the wall.

Sephiroth watched them regain themselves for a scarce few seconds before turning his attention fully to Strife. Sephiroth knelt on the floor and pulled Strife upright against him, uncaring of his nakedness. Dark blue eyes stared unseeingly ahead, becoming visibly less focused before finally closing.

“Oh my Odin. I’m so fucking sorry! I didn’t mean to do… to do any of that. It wasn’t me. I mean, it was me, but it wasn’t. It _wasn’t_.”

Sephiroth answered Zack with a simple, “I know.” while checking Strife’s vitals.

“Fucking Goddess! We just tried to kill you! How are you so calm?”

Genesis’ words were a vicious snarl, but Sephiroth just hooked his arms under Strife and stood.

“We should reconvene in my apartment.”

It was only then that Angeal took stock of the damage they had done to his apartment. It was better off than most battlefields used by Firsts, but not by much. A bitter voice in the back of his mind remarked about his new need to consider Genesis’ proposition of living together, but it was quickly drowned out by the guilt of attempting to inflict this damage on Sephiroth.

Genesis cursed at Sephiroth _(at his own weakness)_ but none of them argued. Only Sephiroth bothered to grab his weapon before exiting.

Angeal, despite his close friendship with Sephiroth, rarely ever went inside the General’s apartment. While Sephiroth loved them, he also loved his space and the absolute order retained within it. It didn’t leave much room for guests.

That was why Angeal was so surprised to enter Sephiroth’s apartment and see it, for lack of a better word, messy. It couldn’t actually be considered messy by most standards, but a book was open on the coffee table with an open box of cookies beside of it. A towel was hung over the back of the couch.

Sephiroth’s apartment, for the first time since Angeal had met him, looked lived in.

Unfortunately, commenting on something so intimate felt awkward after their attempted murder. So Angeal bit his tongue and waited in the living room as Sephiroth situated Strife in one of the back rooms. When he returned, he motioned for them to make themselves comfortable.

“I assume you heard a voice requesting you kill me?”

Zack jumped to his feet with an overtly-relieved sigh.

“Yes! You get it. It was this—this lady. Well, she didn’t really have a voice, but it felt feminine, and she wanted you dead. But even though I knew what I was doing, I didn’t really know. It’s like, you weren’t _you_. You weren’t Seph. You weren’t even a person. Just an it. A Threat.”

Zack’s voice lowered as he became uncomfortable with his own recollection, and shifty violet eyes glanced to Angeal and Genesis for confirmation.

“That’s how it was for me, too. It didn’t even really feel like I was the one fighting. It was like the Goddess had strung me up and my body was moving out of sync with my mind.”

Angeal nodded and added, “It was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Like a mix of safety and belonging and home. It hardly registered that I was doing anything remotely unpleasant.”

Sephiroth’s expression changed into something as close to incredulous as it could get before he regained himself and nodded.

“We will need to ask Strife for confirmation, but I believe you were being controlled by the Planet. Through him, technically. She has been a constant presence in his mind since returning with Angeal, and she speaks solely of eliminating me.”

“How could she get to us through him?”

Sephiroth’s gaze flicked to where Strife must be before returning to Zack.

“Planet’s connection to him is unnaturally strong. It is a working theory, but I assume he acts as her bridge to this plane, and you all have enough mako in your systems to be conduits. He refuses to concede to her demands, so she targets you instead.”

“But why?” Angeal’s hands clenched into fists. “Why can’t she see that you’re different?”

“From what Cloud has told me, it seems that Planet does not think like us. She does not understand emotions or free will or consciousness. She knows only that I grew to decimate her before, and she will do anything to stop me from doing so again.”

When Zack spoke next, his voice was tight.

“How do you fight it?”

“I do not know.”

Genesis threw his hands in the air.

“Well how did Strife fight it?”

“I do not know.”

“What? He told you all about the mind controlling Planet but not what to do about it?”

“Not quite. Cloud responded to my questions concerning the likelihood of him ending my life in the future with information on the Planet. I do not believe he expected her reach to be able to extend past him.”

“But he _did_ fight it. I heard him in my head. He’s what broke her spell!”

Zack sounded adamant, and it took that for Angeal to realize that it had been Strife’s voice at the end. The shift back to reality was just so disorienting that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Angeal, you mentioned my Other self’s ability to take control of Strife, in turn forcing him to hand over the black materia. I presume Planet’s control is similar to my Other self, allotting Cloud prior knowledge of what to expect and how to combat it.”

Genesis buried his face in his hands and groaned.

“So as long as he’s around, that can happen to us again?”

“It is possible.”

“Goddess damn it, Sephiroth. I know you like him, but isn’t this taking it a little far? We almost killed you!”

“You do not have the power necessary to kill me.”

“We _tried_. Really, genuinely tried! Because of him! I hate to be the one to say it, but at what point does he become more trouble than he’s worth?”

“Never.” Sephiroth’s tone left no room for argument. “Angeal has deemed me worth traversing the very bounds of time when all I brought were death and destruction. Cloud saved the world multiple times. He suffered through countless trials for the sake of others without pause or rest. Even now, he was brought against his will to perform a task he does not wish. He is fighting the Planet’s call for the sole sake of giving the man who ruined his life a second chance. And you wish to toss him away for the trouble he brings with him?”

Genesis looked to the side, ashamed, while Angeal wondered just when Sephiroth had become their moral compass.

“We’re not going to abandon him, Seph. He’s one of us. Gen is just scared, that’s all.”

Zack placed a comforting hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder, but Genesis made no move to confirm or deny either claim.

“You have all done your best to save me. I believe it is time to turn those efforts toward Cloud.”

“Why?” Genesis sounded resigned. “I get that he’s a good guy or whatever, but why risk everything for him? If Planet gets a hold of him, he really will kill you. We won’t be able to stop him. Why are you okay with that?”

Sephiroth turned his head to where Strife was resting, an unbelievably soft look in his eyes.

“I am unsure.”

Fortunately, he was the only one who didn’t get it and they were able to drop the topic entirely, instead focusing on how to move past their involuntary betrayal.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

As a general rule, Sephiroth ignored Zackary’s ramblings. They were long and usually pointless. Zackary never seemed to mind being ignored, and when he actually had something to say, he didn’t ramble. So when he marched into Sephiroth’s office and waited patiently instead of spouting off nonsense, Sephiroth looked up.

“I know you aren’t going to like this, but I want you to hear me out, yeah?”

Sephiroth nodded.

“Be honest: how do you feel about Cloud?”

“I like him very much.”

“Romantically?”

“No.”

Zackary heaved out a sigh.

“Why not?”

“We are friends.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t just friends. Think about it, Seph. The way you feel about Cloud isn’t the same as the way you feel about the rest of us. You invite him into your apartment and clear your schedule for spars and get jealous when he ignores you for someone else.”

“I do not mind when he spends time with you.”

“Yeah, but I’m the exception, not the rule. You don’t think of him like a friend, and you don’t treat him like a friend. You treat him like a boyfriend.”

“Cloud’s reasoning remains true. I neither wish to have sex with him nor play video games with him.”

Zackary waved off Sephiroth’s defense with a flick of his wrist.

“Video games are my thing. And I doubt it’s that you don’t want to have sex with him. You probably just haven’t thought about it. I mean, have you ever actually pursued anyone yourself?”

Sephiroth thought for a moment before shaking his head. He was far, far from a virgin, but his sexual encounters had all been trysts with nameless fans and influential donors to ShinRa. They all approached him, and if the timing lined up for him to release the tension built up by his SOLDIER-metabolized libido, he accepted.

It was a necessary bodily function. Nothing more.

“Thought so. Well it’s time to think about it. Imagine Cloud and his crazy, fluffy hair lying beneath you. His cheeks are red and his eyes are hazy. He’s got his arms around your neck and his body pressed up against you, and all he wants is more of what you’re giving him. How do you feel?”

Sephiroth stared at Zackary, unaffected. He had seen all of the things Zackary was describing before and recognized them as signs of arousal. He had no interest in partners who lied on their backs and begged for him. And Cloud—

_Cloud took another hit from Sephiroth: agile enough to dodge but too new to properly predict where and when Sephiroth would strike. He hit the ground for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes, and Sephiroth easily covered his smaller body, making sure to firmly pin Cloud’s arms and legs._

_Cloud bucked against him, but in a test of strength Sephiroth would always win. Cloud’s body finally relaxed as the blonde gave into his loss, but his expression spoke nothing of surrender. Dark blue eyes glared determinedly up at Sephiroth, their color accented by the flush of his cheeks. Full lips parted to allow deeper breaths and then eventually to say, “Again.”_

Thinking of Cloud like that, full of defiance and determination, immediately got Sephiroth’s blood pumping. And if Cloud were to buck against him for friction instead of escape? If Cloud’s lips parted to ask for more caresses? For more of Sephiroth?

Sephiroth uncrossed his legs to relieve the sudden tightness in his pants.

Zackary grinned.

“Thought so. Maybe you don’t want to play video games with him, but you definitely want him. And you spend time together doing plenty of other things, like sparring and reading. And don’t try to tell me that book and those cookies in your apartment weren’t his. That’s his favorite brand.”

“They belong to Cloud, yes.”

“And that’s what makes him different! You let him into your life. He affects you in ways we never will, and that’ll only increase as you guys get closer. Dating isn’t just about playing games together. It’s supporting each other. It’s holding his hand and waking up next to him and having everyone else know that he’s yours. You can’t tell me you don’t want that.”

Sephiroth, for the second time since meeting Cloud, found himself yielding to Zackary’s expertise on romantic matters.

“He has already rejected my advances though.”

“He rejected them like a year ago. And it’s not like he told you he doesn’t like you. He just said that you don’t really like him.”

“What do you propose I do?”

Zackary looked torn between ecstatic and fondly amused.

“You try again, of course!”

That simple, encouraging sentence led Sephiroth to stand in front of Cloud, ready to rebut any denial the blonde could come up with. Zackary had let Sephiroth into his apartment where Cloud was already waiting, no doubt to play a game of some sort.

Cloud watched Sephiroth with an intense curiosity.

_Why are you here?_

_I wish to speak with you._

_Go ahead._

“I have romantic feelings for you and wish to take you on a date.”

Cloud’s lips tightened into an unamused line.

“We’ve been through this already.”

“The situation has changed.”

“You want to play video games with me now?”

“I do not.”

“You want to have sex with me?”

“Yes.”

Cloud blinked a few times, clearly taken aback. Sephiroth used that stunned silence to his advantage.

“I wish to have sex with you, and I wish for you to stay with me afterwards. I would like to wake up with you next to me and to have you stand beside of me not only as a comrade in arms but as a partner. You do not simply make me feel alive in battle. You make me happy. I request the opportunity to make you feel the same.”

“No.”

The answer was so abrupt that Sephiroth had to take a moment to reassess the situation.

“No?”

“We can’t be together.”

“It is… impossible?”

A wave of dread washed over Sephiroth at the thought of never even getting a chance to explore a life with Cloud. He swiftly steeled himself against that despair and continued.

“Regardless of your current feelings, I intend to pursue you. If you are rejecting me for the actions of my Other self, I assure you: I am not him. I care deeply for you, and I refuse to believe we have no possible future together. If it takes the rest of my life proving that, then so be it. As I am sure you are already aware, I can be incredibly persistent.”

Cloud snarled and took a step back.

“Stop! Just stop! Are you purposefully trying to hurt me now?”

“What? Cloud, I never—”

“Of course I like you! I’d have to be blind not to see this-this _thing_ between us! But we can’t!”

Sephiroth took a step into Cloud’s personal space.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one that has to kill you!”

Sephiroth flinched at the pain in Cloud’s voice as much as the reminder of their possible fate.

“If you fall to Jenova, you’ll stop caring about me, but you won’t forget. You’ll know that I love you and you’ll use it against me, and I… I won’t be able to do it. Do you hear me? I’ve doomed my friends, and I’ve murdered my hero, and I’ve killed my son. If I let you in; if I let you be more than what you already are, I won’t be able to kill you again. _I_ _won’t_. And that’s why _we can’t._ Because to be with you is to forsake everyone else.”

Cloud’s voice had dropped to a desperate whisper by the end of his speech. Logically, Sephiroth knew that he should back off. He knew that it was unreasonable to ask Cloud to do anything so drastic. He knew that it could be the entire world at stake. None of that stopped him from taking the final step towards Cloud and threading his fingers into soft, wild blonde locks.

“Forsake them then.”

And they did.

**(***Without Mercy, Without Grace***)**

Cloud awoke to mako green eyes with cat-like pupils. His body immediately went on high alert, and he was off the bed with First Tsurugi at Sephiroth’s neck before either of them could blink. Sephiroth didn’t try to fight back or escape or move at all. He simply watched as Cloud took in their surroundings.

And when the lack of madness in Sephiroth’s eyes registered in Cloud’s mind, bringing him back to the present, Sephiroth simply lifted the covers to allow Cloud to crawl back into bed with him.

Cloud generally awoke disoriented thanks to his nightmares, but Sephiroth never seemed to mind his lover turning on him first thing in the morning. He respected the PTSD as much as any other battle wound.

It was at these moments that Cloud felt he could actually be considered lucky. In all honesty, he still couldn’t quite believe he and Sephiroth were in a relationship.

Before Sephiroth, Cloud had been on exactly three dates: two with Aerith and one with Tifa. He had kissed Aerith once, chastely. The rest of his life had been spent in a lab, fighting seemingly unconquerable enemies, saving the world, and doing his best not to drown in his survivor’s guilt. Even touching himself had become rare after Sephiroth’s initial revival renewed the fear of losing his friends while he was indulging himself.

Cloud had always thought that if he were in a relationship, it would be slow and gentle. That being said, it took all of the five minutes to get from Zack’s apartment up to Sephiroth’s for Cloud to tumble into the General’s bed and stay there.

Before Sephiroth’s kisses, Cloud had never known the feeling of being devoured. The obsessive bastard he had always known gained a new layer as every touch burned like a brand of possession. Butterflies didn’t just flutter in his stomach, they erupted from every cell and sieged his senses.

Sephiroth, despite his cold and off-putting demeanor, had experience in spades. He knew just where to touch to make Cloud simultaneously melt and harden, and after their first kiss, eliciting that reaction seemed to become his favorite hobby.

Their first night together, they fucked until they were both genuinely tired. After that, Sephiroth was insatiable. More surprisingly, he awakened an insatiability in Cloud that the blonde had never expected of himself. They had sex on every available surface in Sephiroth’s office and both of their apartments. Many of their spars, regardless of the winner, ended with Sephiroth’s cock buried deep in Cloud’s ass.

Genesis made a habit of commenting on their sex life, usually deeming it ridiculous even for SOLDIERs. They ignored him because it was impossible to explain.

Sex wasn’t just a physical pleasure for them. It was as though their very souls were touching: the two least natural parts of the Lifestream coming together to find solidarity. In Sephiroth’s arms, Cloud felt as though every life he had ever lived and every trial he had ever experienced finally meant something.

He and Sephiroth were born for each other.

Sex was when they felt the most complete – when the Planet’s voice got drowned out by Cloud’s name on Sephiroth’s lips – but it was far from their only connection. They sparred every day. They discussed everything from battle strategies to sword-care to Fenrir. Every now and again they would speak of the past, but those times were few and far between.

At most points, they understood each other well enough not to say anything at all.

“Cloud?”

Cloud hummed, content to curl into Sephiroth’s side for a few minutes longer.

“I love you.”

The words were whispered into Cloud’s hair, just as they were every morning. It was an admission of their vulnerability just as much as it was their emotions. An acknowledgment that Planet could break down Cloud’s defenses and that Jenova could take away Sephiroth’s will at any moment.

A hope that they could wake up and say it again tomorrow.

“I love you, too.”

 

 


End file.
